


We Found Each Other in the Shadows

by papervalentine



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, F/F, Murder Wives, but like just casual drug use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2019-11-25 23:40:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18172985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papervalentine/pseuds/papervalentine
Summary: Alana Bloom is after self-preservation. Margot Verger is after revenge. Both women have nothing to lose, until they do.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:  _A witchy beauty about this place..._

 

The drive through Maryland was long as the winding roads gradually drew Alana further away from the concrete and right angles of the city to the woods, brittle with winter, but still softer and quieter. Her fingers drummed impatiently on the steering wheel, thinking she should have taken that left turn about a mile back. Supposedly she had arrived at Muskrat Farms fifteen minutes ago according to her GPS but as of yet there was no sign of the Verger Estate, just the dense, slumbering forest flanking either side of the two lane road. Right before Alana decided to turn around another road appeared, though not clearly defined, it was little more than a slender crevice in the fortress like tree line; a crack in the wall for a mouse to slip into to. The dirt and gravel that comprised her route jostled her car unsteadily, so much so that she felt a pinch of pain in her hips. The narrow path led her into the forest until eventually she could see an opening that framed a sort of courtyard with a grand looking stable. And through the treetops beyond that were the looming gray stones and spires of the Chateau-esque mansion looking as if painted onto the opaque white sky.

As she crossed a wooden bridge, Alana caught a glimpse of a figure riding a mahogany horse through the trees below her. Something about the woman and animal elegantly dashing just ahead of her caught her imagination, like the rider was a mythical fox in a fairy tale heralding her along her journey. Finally the road widened into a cobblestone square with staff milling about tending to horses. They contented to ignore her, which suited Alana’s intentions fine as she firmly placed her cane to the uneven ground, catching sight of the woman from the woods. She had paused at the door of the barn just long enough for Alana to spot her, as if in invitation, and she was compelled to follow after her.

Coming to stand in the open doorway, she paused to appraise the woman. Taller than she, but only by a couple of inches, and striking, her dark green blazer and black riding pants set her apart from the obvious employees who donned polo’s and pullovers with regulation khakis. Everything about the woman spoke to privilege and wealth; with her pin straight posture and face arranged into the blank mask of disinterest. Except for her eyes, Alana noticed they gleamed in the pale light emanating in the late afternoon, alive and verdant as they appraised her in return. Alana sensed rather than saw her expression shift from feigned boredom to expectance, prompting her to speak, “I’m Doctor Bloom.”

“Ah, you’re the new psychiatrist.” She sauntered over to her.

“I think I missed the turn off from the main highway then came upon the service road. I’m not sure if this is my entrance.”

“This can be your entrance. It isn’t easy to find the first time you come.” Something about her voice purred with innuendo.

“Margot Verger.” She extended her hand and Alana reached out to grasp it. The contact was brief yet lingering in a way. The leather of their gloves strangely acted as a second skin, an alluring tease of the real thing.

“A witchy beauty about this place.” Alana commented.

“Yes, isn’t there?” Margot breathed out as she turned to walk down the aisle of stalls, touching the horses’ noses with idle affection as she passed. “You should see it in the spring. A riot of lilacs and the wind smells nothing at all like the stockyards and slaughterhouses one usually associates with the Verger name.”

Margot’s words felt like a veiled riddle that she had to solve to gain entrance. She appreciated the imagery but elected not to comment on the complicated politics of being a Verger, instead speaking to the reason for her visit. “Can you please let your brother know that I am here?”

“He knows.” Margot said dryly, breaking step with Alana’s deliberate pace to open the door ahead of them. She followed the fox as she led on to the mad king.

Inside their small talk ceased and the Verger fell back in step with Alana, the other woman’s casual saunter for once not feeling as if the other person held back on her account. She imagined Margot did everything in this unhurried manner. It gave Alana time to step carefully and to take in the lavish surrounding; 17th century baroque painting, Tiffany crystal chandeliers, and possibly a Ming dynasty vase, if Alana wasn’t mistaken, decorated the way as they stepped from ebony-finished wood floors to white marble. They arrived at their destination, a tan parlor with the French doors to a veranda flung open despite the cold. The male Verger sat in his wheel chair out there, seemingly unaware of the two women approaching.

Margot stopped short beginning to give her warning. “Some people have trouble talking with Mason so if it bothers you, or you can’t take it, I’d be happy to answer any questions you have.”

“Thank you.” Alana intended to tell her she doubted there would be an issue. But Mason shouted in interruption, his voice a ridiculous caricature of aristocracy.

“Margot, you can leave us now.”

She didn’t depart immediately, offering a last bit of advice. “If my brother offers you chocolate, politely refuse.”

Alana didn’t question her, just watched as she ascended the short staircase they had just come from. Margot turned and looked back at her as well, something compelling them to track each other’s movements until she stepped out of frame and her surroundings snapped back into focus. Alana had this feeling that it had all been too fleeting but set the thought aside for another time. She headed back out into the cold to speak with the master of the house.

“Ah! Good afternoon, Dr. ‘loom.” He said, dropping the first letter of her name. His chair spun to face her and she blinked for just a moment, adjusting to what or rather who, she was looking at. As twistedly handsome as Mason had been before Hannibal inflicted his chaotic will, he was now as equally disfigured. Like the opposite of himself, it looked as though his face had been turned inside out. The skin was pocked with gouges and livid with scars where doctors had tried to stitch his face back together. There was a vague lump of flesh with two holes where his nose should be gave him a grotesque, reptilian expression. Though Alana didn’t feel any more horror than perhaps seeing an abandoned bike on the side of the road; the inkling of a possible tragedy but mostly curious as to how it got there in the first place. What had Mason Verger done to deserve this fate from Hannibal?

She greeted him smoothly. “Good afternoon, Mr. Verger.”

“You know, I thank God for what happened. It was my salvation.” She found Mason’s exaggerated enunciation came from him trying to compensate for not having any lips; the skin around his mouth jagged and uneven giving him the appearance of a perpetual snarl. “Have you accepted Jesus, Dr. ‘loom? Do you have faith?”

She managed to suppress rolling her eyes at his line of questioning. She generally found religion to be an incredibly trite motivation. “I was raised in a religious atmosphere, but whatever that left me with, it’s not religion.”

“Left me with more. You see I’m free. I’m right with the Risen Jesus and it’s all okay now. And nobody beats the Riz. He will raise me up and smite mine enemies and I shall hear the lamentations of their women. That was once you, I’m told. Dr. Lecter got deeper inside you than he did any of us.” Mason chokes on his on saliva under cutting his little sermon and the obvious disparagement of her. With wet, pathetic coughs he tries to clear his airway, phlegm spewed from his mouth and dribbled down his chin.

Alana awaited unconcerned for a few beats too long before she finally asked patronizingly. “Do you want me to get the nurse?”

“No, no, no, I’m fine now. It’s all okay now.” He spoke with the ridiculous fervor of an Evangelical preacher.

“You’re supposed to share any relevant information you find on Hannibal Lecter with the FBI.” It was well-known the Verger heir posted a one million dollar reward for information leading to the location of Hannibal with strict instructions from law enforcement that he was not to act as his own agency.

“Huh.” He said noncommittally.

She pressed. “Have you always done that?”

“Not exactly. I want you to understand Dr. ‘loom, that this is not a revenge thing. I’ve forgiven Dr. Lecter as Our Savior forgave the Roman soldiers.” She didn’t believe him for a moment and wasn’t prepared to keep up the charade any longer.

“Forgiveness isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, Mr. Verger.” His eyes suddenly glinted with rapt malice at her words. “I don’t need religion to appreciate the idea of Old Testament revenge.”

If Mason were capable of moving more than just the jerky movement in his fingers that allowed him to steer his motorized wheelchair, Alana imagined he would have clapped with excitement. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

He continued. “Aren’t you curious about how I came to be like this? The official story is I took a tumble into the pigpen. You know very well that Dr. Lecter did this to me but do you know how?”

“I don’t know the specifics.”

“Well the good doctor and I got in a little quarrel you see. I wanted to feed him to my pigs, which he thought was rude. I admit I didn’t quite realize what I was dealing with when I started the feud.” Alana could see how Mason would have been accustomed to being the ultimate big bad, the thought never occurring to him that some one worse could be prowling out there. Hubris was one of his intrinsic flaws. She didn’t say anything and let him go on.

“Anyways, Dr. Lecter, that sly wolf, gave me some sort of concoction. A kite-flying cocktail if you will because whoa baby I was soaring. The best my people could figure out the mixture was a combination of angel dust, acid, and some rarified hallucinogenic fungus spores. Whoa baby I was soaring.” He said it almost nostalgically.

“Sounds like a good time.” Alana spun her cane with disinterest but Mason didn’t seem to care about her attitude.

“Oh it was until Dr. Lecter recommended I use my knife to cut off my own face and feed it to Will Graham’s dogs. I hear you and Mr. Graham had a bit of a tête-à-tête as well. You certainly attract a type.” He pried.

Alana tried not to get too prickly. “Will was no more than a professional curiosity.”

She’d given the line so much it was becoming tiresome and the truth now. There had been a point in time when Alana had truly cared for the empathic man and been charmed by his wry handsomeness. Any lingering feeling she’d held towards him felt far away and foreign to her, like it split from her body when she landed on the pavement.

“And what would I be to you?” Mason asked suggestively.

“A business associate.” She said flatly.

He tries his best to convey disappointment with his mangled face but eventually goes on with his story. “I think the worst of it, beside of course being paralyzed when Dr. Lecter snapped my neck with his bare hands, was when he ordered me to eat my own nose. They pumped my stomach to see if the nose could be reattached but it was too chewed up as you can imagine.”

“A rather literal interpretation of cutting off your nose to spite your face.” She said dryly.

“Ha-ha!” Mason wheezed with perhaps genuine amusement. “You are a hoot Dr. ’loom, a real hoot. Say, would you like some chocolate?”


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:  _To monsters then..._

 

“Dr. Bloom.” A voice floated to her from a passing room, feminine and darkly tempting. She drew back to stand in the threshold of a room that appeared to be a sort of study. Books lined the walls, old volumes and first editions, a black desk stationed in the middle of the room with rich leather furniture flanking around it. Tall, narrow windows evenly broke up the shelves, revealing nothing of the sprawling grounds around them as an inky winter night had suddenly descended in the two or so hours that she had spoken with Mason. A fire burning in the hearth was the only light source casting most of the room in flickering shadows and patches of orange light. Through the shadows, Margot sat poised as a queen on the sofa with an open book in her lap and a tumbler of amber liquid held loosely in her fingers tips, like it may slip from grip and go shattering to the ground at any moment. Alana imagined that if the glass did drop, the woman would remain entirely unmoved.

“Miss Verger.” Alana regarded her. “It seems I got turned around and can’t find my exit now.”

“That’s twice you’ve lost your way today. Is this a habit of yours?”

“And twice you’ve found me. Is that a habit of yours?” She challenged the corners of her lips twitched in a smile. Margot returned it with an amused smirk.

“Perhaps…” She murmured thoughtfully. “Would you like a drink?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

“Please, have a seat.” Margot gracefully rose from her place, gesturing to the spot on the couch closest to the fire. As she passed she wordlessly helped Alana out of her bright coat, her fingers trailing down the backs of her arms. The seconds slowed down, Alana felt each tick with her heart for the duration of the contact. And then it was gone; time resuming its normal pace.

“Do you like Old Fashions?” The tall woman asked, draping the garment over the back of a chair before coming to stand behind a drink cart and beginning to prepare the drinks without waiting for an answer.

“I’m not sure.” A simple raised eyebrow from Margot requested her to extrapolate.

“After my… accident,” Her head inclined subconsciously toward the cane she had resting beside her. “I’ve found my proclivities have been changed. I’m still learning.”

“Only one way to find out what one likes.” Margot was twisting a freshly peeled orange rind into the whiskey and bitters. Then dropping a black cherry, like a dark jewel, for the finishing touch. She joined her on the couch, passing the glass gently chiming with ice to her, which Alana accepted gratefully.

“So Dr. Bloom-“

“Alana, please.”

“Alana.” Her name rolled pleasingly off her tongue. “Can you help my dear, poor brother?”

“Depends on what you mean by help Miss Verger.”

“Margot.” She corrected airily before continuing. “In regards to his mental health, of course.”

From her dispassionate tone, Alana sincerely doubted that she had any concern towards her brother’s well being mental or otherwise. “In that case, no. Your brother has a sadistic personality disorder and sees no fault in his thoughts or actions. He will always seek to inflict pain and destruction for his pleasure. But you knew that.”

Margot watched her curiously, her voice slightly impressed. “You know he is a monster but when you spoke with him today you scarcely bat an eye.”

Margot must have lingered longer than she had thought if she had seen her initial contact the disfigured Verger. Or perhaps she has her own secret network that allowed her to know what went on in the vast spaces and many dark nooks of her home in the way that Mason seemed to be immediately aware of her arrival. She imagined both Verger siblings had many tricks up their sleeves and Alana found herself more and more interested in Margot’s. “Mason is undoubtedly a monster. But he is not my monster. Not all are quite as easy to spot as your brother.”

An image of Hannibal, bloody and disheveled, throwing himself against the pantry door flashed in her mind. His frame hulking and powerful, which once was a point of attraction for her now, twisted into something terrifying and violent. When they had spoken his voice portrayed a calm, rational man yet his human face had slipped and she could not unseen the blood dripping from him. She pushed the image back into the fog.

“Yes, I do take some level of comfort that his outside now matches his inside… To monsters then.” Margot lifted her glass in a proposed toast. “May we live to see them vanquished.”

Alana remained silent, not quite feeling that her monster was indeed vanquished, but never the less clinked glasses in a show of camaraderie. She brought the beverage to her lips and took her first sip of the smoky sweet cocktail. She immediately liked the way the whiskey curled down her throat and warmed her stomach, decadent and biting.

Margot continued to pry. “How can you help my brother then if not in his psychological matters?”

At one point in time Alana would have up held her professional duty, citing doctor-patient confidentiality to discontinue the direction of their conversation. She would have stopped it long ago. However that woman did not exist anymore after she had been pulled down into this evil underbelly of the world and in this strange new landscape she sensed an ally in Margot. She spoke frankly in a way that still gave her a slight thrill at her new lack of inhibitions. “He wants to find Hannibal Lecter and thinks I’m the woman for the job.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.” She said decisively. “Though I’m sure I’m his second choice. But I’m no stranger to playing second fiddle to Will Graham.”

“Why not help the FBI track down the devious doctor? Surely they are on the case.”

“Laws are like cobwebs; they will catch little flies, but let wasps and hornets break through.” Alana recited the Jonathan Swift quote.

“An apt metaphor.”

“Yes, my confidence in law enforcement has waned considerably. Mason has the means and the… motivation to accomplish the task.”

“And your motivation? How does finding Hannibal and placing him in my brother’s hands benefit you?”

“Last time I saw Dr. Lector he promised to kill me and facilitated my being pushed out of a window. My angle is self-preservation.”

“A worthy cause.” Green eyes roved her figure in an appreciative manner in a way that would have previously made her blush.

“I’m glad you agree.” She leisurely tipped more of her drink into her mouth. “Do you mind my asking, why do you stay here with your brother? There seems to be no love lost for you.”

Alana knew that sadist’s first victims were usually in the childhood home, starting with pets and quickly followed by siblings. Margot swirled her drink. “I’ve tried my hand at running and found Mason’s strike hits even with my back turned. I’m no longer interested in self-preservation. I want revenge.”

“Hmm, sounds like you could use someone to watch your back.” Alana hummed.

“Are you offering?”

Alana grinned conspiratorially but deflected. “Perhaps someday our interests will intersect.”

“Wouldn’t that be something?” Margot smirked behind her glass, lifting in another half-hearted toast and drained the rest of her beverage.

The doctor sipped the remainder of her cocktail. “This is excellent.”

“I’m glad I could help illuminate you.”

“I feel as though you could be illuminating in many other ways.” Alana said coyly as she dipped her fingers into the remaining ice and retrieved the cherry from the bottom of her glass. She sucked the fruit into her mouth, first tasting the burn of liquor before the burst of sweetness rushed over her tongue. Margot watched her motions intently making Alana feel daring and warm.

The heiress leaned forward placing her hand on Alana’s glass so their fingers grazed each other, “Would you like another? And we can discuss more about how we can help each other.”

Alana shifted in her seat in anticipation but nearly winced at the ache that emanated from her hip and skittered down her left leg. The pulses of pain thwarted any possibilities for the evening. She sighed regrettably, frustration flooding through her, as she said, “No, thank you. I should actually be going. I have a bit of a drive home.”

“Of course.” Margot withdrew immediately, taking the tumbler to return it with her own to the drink cart. While the other woman sounded impassive to the rejection, the action felt decidedly cold. The taller woman collected her coat from and stood waiting for Alana to rise. She gritted her teeth and clutched her cane to pull herself up but still wasn’t prepared for the spasm of pain that caused her left leg to buckle. She gasped as she stumbled forward. If Margot hadn’t been so close, she would have collapsed to the ground. But instead the woman caught her, arms encircling her waist as Alana grasped onto her shoulders, rather falling into her slender frame.

“Are you alright?”

She cleared her throat as she gathered her bearings, inhaling the alluring scent of amber and cardamom and French cigarettes from Margot. “My injuries can be worse in the evening, though it normally isn’t quite so bad as this. I think standing in the cold with your brother exacerbated them.”

Mason had ranted and rambled on the terrace long after their business could have concluded, apparently taking advantage of having a new audience to horrify. She didn’t contribute much to the conversation nor did she think it would have been welcomed. Alana stood with her joints stiffening and the cold settling into the metal of her bones, listening to him go on and on, talking fondly of his tyrant father and the summer camp he ran for the underprivileged youths and his abhorrent treatment of them. He then derailed into listing the attributes of his specially bred pigs and the damage they could inflict on a grown man in disgusting detail. Her reprieve only came when Mason went into a coughing fit so severe that his nurse had to usher him away to be tended to.

“Is there anything I can do?” A touch of concern laced her raspy drawl. It struck her how different her encounters with the siblings were. The piercing nasal of Mason’s voice and his inherent ugliness in the blindly white cold felt like the pangs of an afternoon headache. But with Margot it was all heat and gauzy edges with her dulcet tone drifting in the comfortable darkness with flickering warmth just dappling her fine bone structure. The opening lines of a Frost poem came to mind. _Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire._

Alana cautiously began putting weight back onto her leg, finding that the pain was ebbing to a more tolerable level. She pulled away from the woman and grinned bitterly. “I just need to get home to lick my wounds.”

She wished for her bed, a heating pad, and the Vicoden she had stashed in her nightstand. Margot’s lip ticked up in an odd smile seeming to hold back a glib remark as she nodded, “I’ll walk you to your car.”

Margot helped her back into her coat, the material warm with heat it absorbed from hanging by the fire, and she tightened the belt around he waist. Fortified for the moment, the two women slowly made their way through the house with Miss Verger hovering closely by her elbow as if preparing to catch her once again and for once she didn't feel patronized by it. Alana made it back to the drive without incident though and she was glad when the auburn-haired woman didn’t make a fuss of her getting into the car, simply offering her hand to help Alana push herself into the cab.

“Thank you.” She sat with the door ajar for a moment, gazing longingly with Margot waiting for her to speak. Despite the sharp coldness of the night, Margot acted unaffected by the temperature despite having no coat and only the thinness of her silk top. Alana felt mesmerized by her stillness. “A rain check on that second drink?”

“Of course.” The iciness in her demeanor was gone; her green eyes sparkled with an unspoken intention.

“Until then. Good night Margot.”

“Take care Alana.” She said and shut the car door. The doctor twisted the keys left hanging in the ignition and the SUV rumbled to life. As she started off down the dark path back out to the main road, she glanced in the rearview mirror to see Margot’s silhouette, unmoving and watching.

-

Margot eyes followed the red taillights receding down the service road, arms crossed over her chest to fend off the cold of the night. The frigid temperature didn’t hurry her inside though as she was compelled to watch all traces of the doctor slip away between the trees.

It felt as if she were standing on a precipice.

She’d read all the news articles surrounding the dramatic unmasking of The Chesapeake Ripper and his subsequent escape, especially those of The Tattler who redubbed the man aptly and garishly Hannibal the Cannibal. Though generally regarded as a gossip rag the unscrupulous magazine tended to have a deeper insight and more scathing commentary that Margot appreciated. The sordid tale played out all over again in ink with the neurotic Will Graham on the edge of darkness and on the end of his leash held by the hopelessly inept Jack Crawford while Dr. Hannibal Lecter freely murdered and feasted under their noses. Alana Bloom’s character had been flattened considerably to a short blurb about her being a love-struck former student unfortunately injured in the melee of men and her refusal to comment on the events summated to embarrassment. Clearly Freddie Lounds did not think much of the female psychologist.

The articles hadn’t done her justice from Margot’s estimation though. From the moment Alana stepped down from her car, a dash of vibrant color with ruby lips and sapphire eyes in the stark winter landscape, the heiress was intrigued. At the very least in that she appreciated a beautiful face. Upon closer inspection Dr. Bloom proved to be more than that. Margot recognized the sharpness in her angles and the frankness in her tone as someone who survived something perilous. She recognized the traits from looking in the mirror as she shared similar ones. This wasn’t a woman embarrassed; this was a woman who had been wounded now full of grit and steel.

Margot turned and walked back through the barn where the horses were already blanketed and dozing in their stalls. Only her favorite stallion Reynard stuck his nose out to see her. She stopped to scratch his broad neck while he snuffled at her pockets fruitlessly looking for carrots. She murmured her apologies to him, thinking more of Alana. She’d enjoyed the cadence of their conversation. While most people wanted to fill the void with inane blather, Alana spoke sparsely, only saying what she truly wanted to say, and let the silences speak for themselves.

Stepping away from the animal with a final pat, she wandered back inside. She took her time to leisurely walk the halls. This luxury still felt new with a small thrill, to move through the mansion uninhibited and unconcerned of Mason’s whereabouts. He couldn’t be lurking around any corners these days. She idly ran her fingers along the wall and remembered the feeling of Dr. Bloom walking next to her. The woman’s sudden presence in the house made Margot feel sharper and more aware despite her habit of coating her insides with whiskey and Valium to keep reality at bay. There was something charged between them that ionized the air and sent her blood pumping. And though she would be retiring to her room alone tonight, her flirtations and innuendos had not been entirely rebuffed and in some instances returned. She considered this might be for the better as she sensed there was more for their future than one illicit night in the shadows.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:  _How nice of you to think of me..._

 

“Dr. Bloom.” Alana brusquely answered her phone. She hadn’t recognized the number and was anticipating another dogged reporter for her to snap at. After the attack, the media onslaught had been endless with her phone ringing off the hook and news teams camping on her front lawn. Microphones and tape recorders where thrust into her face every time she left her house. Questions were thrown at her so quickly that she couldn’t have even attempted to answer in the clamor of it all. But she maintained her silence and eventually they lost interest; with the exception of the sporadic call from a particularly obstinate ‘journalist’.

“Hello Alana.” A voice purred.

“Margot, what a pleasant surprise.” She recognized and instantly softened, unsurprised that the Verger had been able to procure her personal phone number. She imagined there was very little information out of her reach with a last name like hers. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

“Good. Much better, thank you.” Her body had made a steady recovery since that night at the Verger Estate. Today she’d felt so much better that after doing her therapy stretches she took Applesauce on a long walk through the woods behind her home. She walked carefully along the leaf covered path while her dog darted happily ahead then scurrying back elated to have Alana out with her.

“Wonderful.” Margot said. “Are you free this afternoon?”

“I don’t have any plans. Why?”

“I know its rather short notice but I was in town and thought I would see if you’d like to get lunch?

The time was pushing on to 3 o’clock, a considerably late lunch but Alana agreed. She had only picked at dry toast and drank peppermint tea anyways. “I’d like that.”

“Excellent, I’ll come around and pick you up in an hour.”

“Alright. I’ll see you then.”

“See you then Alana.” And she hung up without getting her address.

-

Three sharp knocks tapped her front door.

“Hello.” She felt a little breathless greeting Margot who looked almost casual in an emerald top and gray pin striped slacks underneath a tan dress coat. A dark, sporty Mercedes was parked haphazardly in the driveway behind her. “Come in a moment, I just need to grab my coat.”

She stepped back and Margot stepped in, her eyes traveling about her colonial style home with vague interest. “You have a nice house. And a dog.”

Applesauce came prancing up to the stranger in her home, wagging her tail and sniffing Margot’s legs enthusiastically. “Can I say hello to her?”

“Of course.” She said, a little surprised at the other woman’s curiosity in her pet. The dog sat in front of her to have behind her ears scratched.

Margot asked, “What’s her name?”

“Applesauce." Alana called from her closet, selecting a black wrap coat to put over her dress. It was one of the few dresses surviving in her closet, black with three-quarter length sleeves and a pattern of violently red flowers falling down the skirt.

“Applesauce?” She questioned when Alana stepped back out, flipping her hair out of the coat collar.

“She likes to eat applesauce.” Alana shrugged with a small grin.

She straightened up from petting the dog. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.”

They departed into the late afternoon with Margot behind the wheel, her foot heavy against the accelerator as she cruised through the streets. Alana felt the flicker of excitement from being in the presence of the heiress she’d had before. The feeling hadn’t faded by the time they pulled up to an elite restaurant downtown. Margot parked at the valet, getting out of the car to meet Alana at her door, offering her hand to help her out of the low-sitting vehicle.

“Thank you.” Alana let herself be pulled up before catching her weight on her cane.

A man in a well-tailored suit and black tie collected their coats. Then another similarly dressed led them to a table for two next to a broad and tall window with pale golden sunlight catching and reflecting on the chandelier above them to create brilliant spots of light kaleidoscoped with rainbows. On the pristine white tablecloth there was a bouquet of winter roses and two unlit candles sat on either side of the flowers in vintage silver holders like white Georgian pillars. Margot waved off the man as he tried to push in her chair for her so he assisted Alana as she took her seat on the plush green velvet.

“We’ll have a bottle of the Paganelli Sangiovese from the ‘84 reserve.” The heiress ordered without looking at the menus he was placing in front of them.

“Very good ma’am.” He nodded and briskly walked off.

“I’ve never been here before. Do you come often?” Alana asked picking up her menu to scan the items.

“On the occasion.” Margot hadn’t picked up her menu yet. “I was hoping you hadn’t been here. I’d like to continue to help you discover your palette.”

“Much appreciated.” Alana flashed her a smile.

“It’s such a fascinating idea, to just suddenly start over fresh. What do you like so far?”

“Pain killers and black coffee.” She announced wryly. It made Margot ring out with surprised laughter, the sound fluttered in her chest. Then the waiter returned with dark glass bottle and presented it to Margot to look at. She nodded and gestured toward Alana. The waiter expertly uncorked the wine with a flourish and pop then poured a dash into her glass. Alana realized she was to sample the wine, picking up the glass by the stem and swirling the burgundy liquid under her nose for a moment. She took a sip, tasting berries and something almost like leather, rich and full with a surprisingly sweet finish. It reminds her of meeting Margot in the stables; the leather of the saddles, the sweetness of the hay, and the berry-stained lips in a coy smile.

“Wonderful.” Alana hums, her eyes only on Margot. The server pours her a full glass, then fills Margot’s and sets the bottle between them.

“We’ll need a moment.” Her companion dismisses him. “What about things you don’t like?”

“I don’t care for beer… And pork. The smell repulses me.” There were too many tainted memories of sitting across a table from Hannibal, asking him what he’d put on her plate, and him replying with a secretive smile, _pork_.

“I’ve never cared for it either. Do you think it odd? A Verger not willing to eat a pig?” Alana paused. She could see a younger Margot, with auburn curls and bigger green eyes. This version of her was more delicate, softer and hearing the screams of the animals in the slaughterhouse hurt her more than her brother did at that point. Of course her brother would eventually surpass the pain of the screams, to what extent Alana didn’t know yet.

“Not odd at all. Just more human than the rest of us.”

Margot stared at her for a moment before saying. “I’ll order for us if you have no objections.”

“None at all.” She set down her menu, strangely pleased at the notion. Margot raised her hand and curled her fingers in a beckoning motion so the server scurried over.

“Ready to order ma’am?”

“Yes. We’ll start with green oysters, then the caramelized cauliflower. I’ll have the arugula salad and the Norwegian smoked salmon. Dr. Bloom will have the truffle soup and pan-roasted sea scallops.”

“Very good ma’am.” He ducked away once again.

“Have you had oyster before Alana?”

“Yes, I never developed a taste for them though.”

“Well let’s see if we can’t remedy that.”

Alana drank more of her wine. “What brought you to town?”

“Some shopping. I adore the little antique shops in the historic district. You never know what you will find.”

“Well how nice of you to think of me.”

“You’re easy to think of.” The comment was said off-handedly but her gaze was intense. Then the oysters came out quickly on a silver tray. Six half-shells tucked into a bed of crushed ice, the pearly, succulent flesh of molluscs exposed enticingly with its gill like a green leaf embedded in its side.

“A good oyster doesn’t need any garnishments at all except maybe a bit of lemon. These are green from a certain blue diatom they eat. Its flavor is highly sought after, considered to be a delicacy by the French.” Margot informed her as she selected an oyster. Alana watched as she tilted the wide brim of the shell into her mouth and slowly chewed a few times before swallowing. She found herself watching the tendons in her throat with fascination. “Are you going to try?”

Alana nodded and picked up her own morsel and followed Margot’s example, tipping the muscle into her mouth. The oyster was smooth and buttery as she bit into it, releasing the briny, clean taste of the ocean. Her eyes found Margot’s once again, “It’s delightful.”

Margot smiled. Alana continued. “I always thought people ate them with cocktail sauce and horseradish on saltines. At least that is how I remember my father eating them when we vacationed in Cape Cod. It was nothing like this.”

“It’s no wonder you didn’t like them, you couldn’t taste them.” Margot quirked up an eyebrow. “There are some of the best oysters in the cape. It’s a shame.”

“Perhaps I’ll go back one day and experience them correctly.”

“I imagine you will some day.” Margot seemed like she spoke with a certainty. “Tell me more about your family.”

As they ate their appetizer Alana somewhat mechanically listed the facts about her family with detachment like it could have been someone else’s family she spoke of. Her father was an engineer and her mother a schoolteacher. She had three brothers, two older and one younger. Adam the eldest was a college professor, than Henry was an accountant, and finally Dylan the youngest worked construction management. Adam and Henry were married to nice, quiet women like their mother while Dylan seemed to be a perpetual bachelor. Her parents still lived in her childhood home in New Hampshire. They were in a word traditional, all perfectly lovely people with perfectly lovely lives. Alana concluded, “I’ve not seen or been in contact with them much since I’ve recovered from my accident.”

“Is that unusual for you to not be in contact?”

“We were what one may describe as close knit. I don’t prefer their company anymore though, I don’t care for much company at all.” She turned over the last spent shell signifying their dish was complete.

“Should I take your accepting my invitation as a compliment?”

“You should.” The waiter ushered by to quietly take away the tray before Alana continued pensively. “I thought I understood trauma. As a psychologist I spent many years studying it and it’s effects on people. But nothing prepared me for experiencing it… Do you mind me telling you all of this?”

“I want to know.” Margot leaned forward slightly.

“I’m like… an amputee and my family is the severed limb, expect it keeps calling me a few times a month to try and check in.” They shared a smirk. “I remember my feelings for them but I’m disconnected.”

“In my family’s case, I think I’m the severed limb.”

Alana smiled curiously as an idea occurred to her. “You know in some species when a limb is lost the detached arm will grow an entirely new animal. Like the starfish, if enough of the central canal, like its spine, is intact it will grow an entirely new starfish. Do you have enough spine Margot?”

The wealthy woman stared at her for a long moment. When she spoke her voice sounded hard. “It’s all I have left.”

“Well, I’d be very interested to see what grows from it.”

Suddenly the next course arrived and Margot leaned back. Alana sipped her wine. The intensity of the moment receded away, though not entirely, rather settling back in their minds to wait for the next opportunity. Bite-sized florets of cauliflower lay golden on a bed of fluffy polenta with oyster mushrooms and shallots and everything liberally coated with rosemary infused butter. It was warm, and sweet, and left their lips glistening. Their conversation took a lighter tone as they talked about the current Klimt Exhibition at museum that Alana wanted to see and the sunlight outside began to dim.

With the next course the candles were lit. Margot’s salad was a deep leafy green with a variety of sliced radishes, red cherry belles, pink watermelon, Chinese green luobo, white globes, creating a colorful medley. Only dressed only with lemon and Spanish extra virgin olive oil, the vegetables were crispy and peppery. Alana moaned into her spoon when she first tasted her soup, the roux thinned with heavy cream was rich and sweetly earthy, perfectly hot all the way down into her stomach.

“This is perfect.” Alana took her second bite just as slowly as her first.

“The dish is one of their specialties. They import the black truffles from a certain province in Italy.” Margot’s fork hovered over her plate to stop and watch Alana take such delight in her food.

“It tastes like…” She trailed off for a moment to think. “It tastes like something whole.”

The orange flame of the candles flickered in Margot’s eyes. “I’ve found it’s excellent to eat when you need something to stick to your bones. Especially after being violently exposed.”

“You speak from experience.” It wasn’t a question. A simple tick of her head was the only confirmation Margot gave. She dipped her spoon into the fine porcelain bowl, scraping it delicately on the rim to prevent dripping; she extended it across the table offering it to the other woman feeling as if she gave her holy communion. Without question, Margot parted her lips and closed them over the spoon brimming with the decadent soup. She gave a deep hum of approval as she pulled back and Alana retracted her hand. With her next bite, she thought of how Margot’s lips had just been on the same surface as her own and felt her heart thump against her breast bone.

When their main courses came out, the outside had been cast in the first blues of the evening. Margot’s meal was plated as a layered cylinder like a small modern sculpture; the base purple Peruvian potato frites, middle layer Julienne cucumbers, and topped with brightly orange salmon and a dollop crème fraiche. While on Alana’s plate sat three plump scallops that had been seared amber-brown with wedges of Mandarin and blood oranges and grapefruits arranged around them like flower petals and an artful dash of passion fruit sauce drizzled over everything. With the bright, playful flavors on her tongue and the wine warm in her cheeks, Alana felt more vibrant that she had in a long time.

Even before the night at Hannibal’s house when the horror had been revealed, her world had been more fraught than not that it was difficult to pinpoint were it all started. Abel Gideon escaping custody and going on a murdering rampage with her name on his kill list. Will’s descent into illness and his imprisonment for crimes he didn’t commit. And then his attempted murder of Hannibal that was the final swing of the hammer that drove her into his arms. Or had her life been marked for tragedy long before all that even with the moment she’d stepped into the lecture hall of Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

All of this fell to the background though as Margot spoke about sitting on a fishing boat in the Mediterranean with a Grecian village of white stucco and blue doors tucked into the cliffs and pushed right to the edge of the sea. The village glowed orange as the sun sunk in the sky. She drank grappa and the navy clothe of the night finally stretched over the sky with its bright pinprick stars that reflected onto the ocean, flickering on the surface like an old reel of film spinning through a projector.

“There were times in my life when my father was too busy with Mason for them to be bothered with my whereabouts.” Margot sighed wistfully. “These distilled moments of contentment… then Molson died. And Mason decided I needed to stay in the family home.”

“Did you think about not returning?” Alana sat back having emptied her plate and swirled her red wine idly in the glass.

“Of course but I wasn’t given much of an option when Mason’s men came for me. When they dropped me at Mason’s feet he said,” Then Margot made her voice nasally, adopting a clipped speaking pattern in mockery of her brother, “You’re the only family I have left Margot. We have to stick together or I’ll take all your possessions and throw you in a gutter.”

“A heart warming sentiment.”

“Isn’t it?” Margot poured more wine into Alana’s glass then her own. She added spitefully. “It’s been better since my brother’s accident but he still controls the purse strings.”

“You mean his maiming?”

“That would be a more accurate word for it.”

The waiter approached with the perfect timing of a well-maintained clock. He gathered their dishes and asked, “Is there anything else I can get for you ladies?”

“I could use something sweet.” Margot arched her brow. “Dr. Bloom?”

“Yes, please.” Alana concurred

“The crème brulee. Two spoons.” She ordered.

“Right away ma’am.”

“Your brother’s misfortune isn’t wholly undeserved.” Alana continued where their conversation left off.

But Margot sighed a little dramatically. “Oh, no need to ruin dessert with talk of Mason. Tell me, have you been to Europe?”

They effortlessly slip back into their discussion of travel. Alana had not been to Greece but she’d spent two semesters in France having minored in the language. Interest sparked in Margot at learning this. “Tu parle francais?”

“Oui, tres bien.”

Delighted, she began speaking in the delicate slur of French about a certain café in Lyon that had the best espresso. Alana responded in kind, revealing her own favorite spots; the record shop hidden in a cobblestone alley and the jazz bar where she drank absinthe while listening to a woman croon on the little wooden stage like Billie Holiday reincarnated. She told Margot about how she would visit the Louvre a few times a week and always end up in the statue garden standing in front of the Winged Victory of Samothrace, the embodiment of Nike the goddess of victory. Her head and arms were lost to time but she still held glory with wings spread behind proudly and taking a triumphant step forward, tunic billowing back elegantly. Alana imagined they could have been in France as they spoke in the soft rambling of the language, using little silver spoons to crack into the caramelized crust of the crème brulee to the yellowy, smooth custard, slightly floral tasting with Tahitian vanilla beans used to make it and garnished with candied violets.

“I couldn’t have another bite.” Alana finally remarked as she set her spoon into the empty dish next to Margot’s. “It was all perfect though.”

“It was.” The heiress agreed. She produced a sleek, black credit card and held it between two fingers by her head. The waiter was there in an instant to take it. A ghost of Alana wanted to protest Margot buying her dinner but she now found it tedious to argue over money, especially when her dining companion was bleeding wealth.

“Anything else I can do for you this evening?” The waiter hovered after he dropped off the cashed out bill in a small leather binder.

“No thank you. Everything was excellent.” Margot fill out and signed the receipt. “If you can just have the car brought around.”

“Of course ma’am. Thank you.” He hurried away to fulfill her request while they lingered over the last of their wine. Alana enjoyed the way they seamlessly received their coats as they exited, stepping right out to the warmed waiting car. The whole world seemed to rush ahead of Margot to anticipate her next need. The feeling was intoxicating; it felt like power, a concept she began obsessing over after her metaphorical and literal fall from grace.

Margot zipped down the now darkened roads, ferrying them quickly and efficiently to her house. Alana rifled through her purse to find her keys, “Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee, perhaps something stronger?”

She looked back expectantly but Margot hung behind on the path, her hands ruefully in her pockets. “A tempting offer but unfortunately now I have a long drive back.”

Alana stepped off her front porch despite hearing Applesauce pacing and whining at the front door for her. She stopped and stood in front of the taller woman closer than necessary, tilting her head curiously. “Yes, unfortunate.”

“Mason… worries if I don’t come home.” She said in vague explanation. “But thank you for accompanying me. I had a lovely time. We should do it again.”

“I’d like that.”

“I’ll see you soon then.” Margot leaned in barely kissing her cheek, then switching to kiss the other and catching the corner of her lip accidentally as she gave her a traditional Parisian goodbye. When she pulled away though, her eyes flickered as if candlelight still danced in them.

Alana stared back with equal intensity, murmuring reluctantly, “Goodnight.”

With a smirk Margot turned and departed. Her Mercedes revved as she recklessly peeled out of the driveway. A neighbor driving down the road had to slam on their brakes to avoid hitting the Verger’s car, which she did not appear to notice, as the car never hesitated in its trajectory.

A man rolled down his window, hollering angrily at Alana, “Tell your friend to learn how to drive.”

She gave him a cold, blank stare and then purposefully turned away to ignore him, going inside with the irritation of an unfulfilled promise and to find that stronger drink.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:  _Do you have enough spine..._

 

 _Do you have enough spine Margot?_ Apparently not, she thought bitterly. The question followed her all the way on her drive out to the estate along with thoughts of the woman who had the audacity to ask the question.

Of course her spontaneous invitation to Alana had not been unplanned as it appeared, her interest around the woman had yet to fade since their first meeting. And their meal had been amiable at the very least and enthralling at most. When the doctor spoke, her words were direct and unfeigned, invoking a stirring of feelings that Margot had learned were best to ignore. But she had nearly accepted the invitation back into Alana’s home, her caution barely winning out at the very end. Mason was still in the habit of keeping tabs on her and to return any later would definitely rile his curiosity in an unpleasant way. Instead she only allowed letting her mind wander to what could have happened if she had taken up the offer.

They would drink whiskey neat on the couch, high heels abandoned and scattered on the floor so they could tuck their feet up on the couch to rub their tender arches. Perhaps they would continue their conversation about France or Margot would tell Alana about her horses or they would speak on the unimaginable things they endured; it wouldn’t matter. Because Alana’s dress would spill around them and Margot would trace the pattern of flowers mindlessly with her fingertip. Alana would comment on her perfume and lean to smell it better, her nose nearly grazing Margot’s neck, her soft exhalation like a warm caress on her skin. All she had to do was turn her head and-

The fantasy misted over, receding into a different scenario. Alana mixing gin and tonics in the kitchen, while Margot leaned against the counter and stared at the delicate curve where Alana’s waist tapered in and her skirt flared out. The doctor would smile devilishly when she caught her staring.

Then again her mind switched and they were standing on a back patio, drinking coffee and coat collars turned up against the wind. They’d watch the dog disappear and reappear in between trees like a pale specter. Alana would step close to take a drag of her cigarette, her red lips stick leaving a cherry stain, and the smoke would bloom from her lips. She never allowed herself to go too far in her thoughts, stopping from conjuring any real connection. It was a defense mechanism she cultivated from years of Mason destroying the things she cared about.

Her heart clenched in her chest when her thoughts were unwillingly dragged to her most recent loss. Her abdomen suddenly felt impossibly empty as she remembered Mason leaning menacingly over her and explaining how her reproductive organs would be ripped from her body along with the precious cluster of cells that would have been a baby. Her baby. She had let herself dream about him, helplessly succumbing to biology or her maternal instinct or whatever whimsical notion it had been. She imagined a little boy and all these possibilities unfolding but she should have known better than to want something so wonderful. And now there was no reason to dwell on the impossible; Margot pushed the intrusive thoughts back down as she pulled into the front entrance of Muskrat Farms.

She left her car out front with the keys dangling carelessly in the ignition. Someone would be around to return it to the garage by morning. Margot considered trying to sneak in a side entrance but thought it better to go right in the front door; the best way to act like she had nothing to hide was the most direct route. She kept her pace purposeful but demeanor uncaring, her shoes clicking steadily against the stone floor but she hadn’t made it half way across the entrance when she stopped short.

“Where have you been Margot? I’ve been worried sick.” Mason’s garbled voice echoed in the grand foyer before she saw him. Then there was the eerie mechanical whirling of his wheelchair and he appeared from the shadow of the hall with his nurse Cordell lurking a few paces behind him.

“Why do you care?” She sighed impatiently at the motley pair.

“I just don’t want you to be getting into any more trouble dear sister.”

“You’ve made sure that I can’t, Mason.” Her eyes narrowed.

The corners of his mouth pulled back in attempts at a nostalgic smile. “Quite right but a brother just can’t help worrying about his little sis.”

“I’ve been shopping.” She supplied for him then glanced at Cordell, speaking to him as if he were one of the wait staff. “There are bags in the car. Grab them for me will you.”

He glared at her for the implication of such a lowly status. She continue to head for the staircase where her brother couldn’t follow, trying to make a clean exit.

“Oh Margot?” He sang her name coyly. She stopped reluctantly on the first step of the stairs, gripping the banister with white-knuckle frustration. Taking a deep breath she turned back around to face Mason. “Since I have you here, I’ve been wanting to ask you. Tell me what do you think of Dr. ‘loom?”

Panic seized her for a moment that Mason could know something of her intentions with the psychiatrist. She managed to keep her expression a banal mask of indifference, speaking slowly as if the first time she’d considered the doctor and coming up with a callous observation. “She’s attractive. For a cripple.”

“I don’t care about your perversion Margot.” He sneered. “I mean tell what kind of person you think she is. Is she someone we can do business with?”

No, he didn’t suspect anything she realized. As cruel as Mason could be, he had very little tact and rather enjoyed flaunting his barely veiled threats. She calmed and retorted with annoyed boredom. “You sent me out of the room Mason. How am I to know?”

“Yes, perhaps I was a little hasty to dismiss you.” Mason admitted. “You see Margot I need your help with something.”

“And what could I possibly help you with?”

“Cordell, why don’t you go grab those bags.”

“But sir-“ He protested indignantly.

“ **Now,** Cordell.” Mason ordered firmly. The man stalked off with an unconcealed scowl. The siblings waited to continue until the heavy oak door slammed shut behind him.

“What’s this about Mason?”

“I won’t insult your intelligence. I’m going after Dr. Lecter. He’ll answer for what he’s done to me.” He took a labored breath. “I’m recruiting Dr. ‘loom for assistance.”

“And where would I come into this?”

“There are certain tasks I need done. Phones calls that need to be made off the property, funds transferred in the bank, things that I couldn’t accomplish with my physical limitations. That’s where you would come in.”

“Why not have Nurse Frankenstein take care of it?” She asked suspiciously.

“Cordell is indispensable to me in many ways but there are just some things that should be left in the family. Don’t you think it’s about time we do something as a family Margot?”

Instantly Margot knew this was less about including her in his plans and more about being able to implicate her in his crimes. In dealing with Mason he wasn’t so much a double-edged sword as much as he was an unpinned grenade; the destruction was assured. Her instincts, her experience with Mason shouted for her to turn down the offer because nothing good could come from this; it would all be fruit from the poisoned tree. And yet the opportunity to be on the inside, learning the banking information, account numbers, routing numbers, would be very beneficial. Mason always over estimated himself, and perhaps now he considered her truly docile, beaten, _sterile_ , that she couldn’t possible be dangerous to him any longer. _Do you have enough spine Margot?_

Alana’s words came back to her again and she felt fortified. Brother and sister stared at each other challengingly before Margot finally answered his original question, “From my impression of Dr. Bloom, it seems like she is someone who uses discretion. From what I’ve read in the papers she has just as much reason for wanting Dr. Lecter dispensed with as you. And besides, what’s the alternative?”

“’Atta girl Margot. I think were going to make an excellent team.” He crowed.

Cordell came in then, empty handed and his hairless head pink from the cold or irritation. “There were no packages in the car.”

Unfettered by his attitude Margot made a hopeless gesture. “Oh, must have slipped my mind. They’re being couriered over tomorrow.”

He looked like he was about to say something but she cut him off. “Don’t worry, there’s still one for you to take care of. Smells like your colonoscopy bag needs changed Mason.”

With that she turned to make her ascension, leaving the men far beneath her.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:  _One has to know where not to look before knowing where one should look..._

 

What Alana remembered most about lying in the hospital bed wasn’t the pain, though the pain had been prevalent, like some throbbing, living thing trying to escape her body. But no, it was the sensation of being rearranged that she remembered most. The looming figures of masked doctors and nurses diligently reconstructed her shattered bones, but after they completed their work, withdrawing with congratulatory nods to one another, she still felt pulled apart. Her body hadn’t been the only thing to break on her fateful fall; her mind lay in fragments, shards of glass floating in a red void and bone marrow leaking in to fill the spaces between. So she’d spent the next month lying perfectly still and reconfiguring her self.

The problem with trying to fix something that has broken is the parts never quite fit as well together as they did before. In the way the surgeons plied metal and screws to her, Alana forced the pieces back together, carving away parts she now saw as extraneous, until by the end she felt surprisingly light and sturdy and harden. She could best describe her new being as efficient.

When she finally was able to sit up and first looked in a mirror, she had been surprised to find that she looked much the same, at least in her face. Her eyes were sparkling blue, her hair glossy dark waves and shoulders perfectly square. The corners of her mouth still permanently turned up like she was on the verge of finding something amusing. She’d have thought there would be some fissure in her appearance, a marked brokenness or dull sadness in her eyes. But the only differences were her cheeks having thinned out from no appetite and perhaps her gaze was a little more pointed. She had taken her beauty for granted in some ways but in that moment she developed a new appreciation for it, as if it were a layer of armor, a glamour concealing something unworldly underneath. It lent to an appearance of normalcy that she couldn’t connect with. Alana blinked at her image in her vanity mirror now, then finished applying the vivid red lipstick she preferred these days.

She was getting ready to depart for Muskrat Farms once again to have an appointment with Mason and for whatever reason she was feeling reflective on the changes she’d undergone; an unreasonable bout of sentimentally she would usually not indulge in. However it occurred to her she hadn’t really considered this certain coquettishness she had with Margot Verger. She’d not been attracted to women in the past, not even in a one-drunken-night-in-college kind of way to sate a taboo curiosity. Her draw to the other woman was unquestionable now, and it wasn’t a mere curiosity rather a craving; the way one would crave red meat if they lacked iron. Alana knew what she desired, knew that _she_ was desired, and felt impatient having to wait for it.

Opening her jewelry box, she looked over the pieces she had, slipping on a silver ring and touching a bracelet before deciding to leave it in the chest. Then she considered a vintage hair comb, a family heirloom from her grandmother that she never found an occasion to wear as she’d considered it too precious. It was beautiful with swirling art nouveau tendrils and small diamonds embedded in the sterling silver. Alana picked it up as if it was commonplace now. She threaded the comb through her hair and gave it a little twist so it held back her hair on the left side of her head; the right cascaded down in soft umber waves.

She tested a broad smile on her face and she dazzled, a perfect imitation of her former self, just with her lips painted crimson and in a fine, black Versace suit. She turned to look at her bed, expecting to find Applesauce curled up on the end but found it vacant. Alana remembered she’d dropped off the dog with her younger brother’s earlier in the day to assuage the guilt of leaving her yet again for the longish trip. Applesauce had also been somewhat changed since her accident as well; her companion was less inclined to leave her side and more protective of the house as if fearful her owner would be gone for months on end once again. Going to Dylan’s house would have once been a source of excitement, but when Alana had left the dog she’d simply wandered in, morosely flopping down, and made sad, searching eyes at her while she finished a brief, stilted conversation with her brother. Taking up her cane, Alana rose from her seat and finished getting ready to leave the house.

Alana didn’t miss her exit on this trip into the countryside. She took the correct turn off and sped up a narrow paved road for a couple miles until she came upon a vast front lawn, ghostly green from a winter frost. A three-tiered Greco-Roman fountain sat empty in the middle of the yard with jovial cherubs carved on the top and a heavily muscled man holding the base, like Atlas holding up the world. Today dark clouds blossomed behind the house with the promise of a storm. Alana drove around the circled driveway and parked her car under a portico.

As she stepped out of her car she only made it a few paces before a formidable-looking man with round features approached her, taking quick but unusually short strides for someone of his height. “Dr. Bloom. We weren’t properly introduced on your last visit. I’m Cordell Doemling. I’m Mr. Verger’s primary caregiver.”

His voice was thin, overly gracious and cheery, and he gave her a serene smile. All the pieces for a polite bedside manner were present, but still there was a malevolent skew about him, maybe hiding in the corner of his eye or settled in the firm plumpness of his large forearms. She nods at him, courteously shaking his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“It is I who am pleased to meet you Dr. Bloom.” He took a step to the side, dipping his baldhead at her and gesturing for Alana to go before him and go up to the house.

Once inside they walked through a foyer with a tall, vaulted ceiling and grand empire chandelier, strands of crystals creating domes that glittered in the faded light from windows set high on the wall. Suits of medieval armor flanked the main staircase of lush, red carpet that swept up in an arc then spilt into two shorter flights of stairs that lead to archways, the space just beyond too darkened to see into the hallways. On the wall behind the stair landing hung an old painting, mostly likely an ancestral Verger. The image was of a beady-eyed man with muttonchops standing next to a slaughtered pig splayed and suspended upside-down next to him, the bowels graphically spilling from the prone animal in macabre detail. Alana paused to for a better look at the painting; the brush strokes were aggressive and rough, the colors gruesome somehow. The same grayish purples and reds were used for the ashen face of the man and for the rotting flesh of the pig. Cordell cleared his throat, “This way Doctor.”

Alana realized he was waiting for her by a side entryway. Still she spared another glance at the morbid painting before she started forward again, her cane and heels clicking on the marbled floors. The nurse walked in front of her down a corridor, with oriental runners covering wooden floors and art deco light fixtures on the walls. His crispy, white nurses uniform whistled as he briskly walked. Interjecting into their silence he crooned, “I take care of physical needs, pain management, dietary, etcetera. But I’m so glad Mr. Verger has found someone to help with his psychological needs.”

He spoke to her over his shoulder. Alana gave him a professional smile. “I’ll do my best to look after Mr. Verger’s mental health.”

“You know,” This time he didn’t bother to look back at her. “Mason does divulge a lot of himself to me. I think he trusts me as a confidante.”

 **“** A confidante is not the same as a therapist.”

“I wouldn’t presume.” He chuckled but then went on, “Though I believe I relate to him in a way you cannot.”

They veered left down a different hall as Alana said tightly, “I’m not here to relate to Mr. Verger. I’m here to help him achieve his goals.”

“And you think you’re capable of that?” His tone remained pleasantly airy but Alana did not miss the implied doubt and judgment. There was another left turn and another long hallway, giving the doctor the feeling that she was in an irresolvable labyrinth. She suspected that Doemling was needlessly leading her around the house to rattle her.

Clenching her cane Alana replied, “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“That remains to be seen.” He said cattily. Then suddenly he halted and slid open a panel-door before she could retort. He announced to the room, “Dr. Bloom is here to see you.”

“Thank you Cordell and thank you for coming Doctor.” His tone seemed tired and strained with politeness. “Cordell draw me a salt bath for when we’re through.”

“Certainly sir. I’ll add some eucalyptus, it’s good for opening the blood vessels.” He made a little bow as he backed out of the room. Mason gave a dismissive twitch of his fingers.

Alana eyed him critically. “And how are you today Mr. Verger?”

“How am I? How am **_I_**?” His voice rose in indignation. “I can’t get out of this damn chair. My legs feel like they’re filled with hot lead. Even if I could touch my dick I wouldn’t feel a goddamn thing. And the man responsible is out there having a jolly good time god knows where.”

As she listened Alana recalled this raging sensation of paralysis, the prickling restlessness and needling numb that could drive a person mad. Doctors told her that she may never walk again, even said it would be a miracle if she did. There was a peculiar horror to looking down your body and not being able to control it, the total helplessness of immobility was something she would not want to live through again. If there were ever a point that she pitied Mason it would be for this, but she suspected he was entirely deserving of it. The man finished his tirade, “All this time he eludes us. He got away clean. It’s as though Hannibal Lecter has dropped off the earth.”

“Hannibal obviously has good papers and money.” Alana stated plainly, unmoved by his complaints. “Europe would be where a man of his tastes would settle.”

“His tastes are very specific.” He growled.

“And that’s how you’ll find him.”

This finally gave Mason’s dour mood pause, “Oh?”

She extrapolated for him. “The wine, the truffles, taste in all things will be a constant between Dr. Lecter’s lives. His name will change but his taste will not.”

“Of course, you know what he would favor.” He said thoughtfully with a renewed wicked glimmer in his eyes. “Tell me Dr. ‘loom, does he favor you?”

She took a beat to consider his question, “I think I amused him. Things either amuse him or they don’t. And if they don’t… Well, you didn’t.”

“Do you feel he ever really genuinely cared for you?”

“I have no idea how Dr. Lecter genuinely feels about me. Last time we spoke he promised he’d kill me.” Alana felt prodded but answered the questions. In addition the new smoldering ire Mason displayed in this visit, he was more distrustful. Where he had been flamboyantly spouting his plans before, he now seemed to be guarded and gauging of her. It was obvious Mr. Doemling had been whispering doubts in his ear.

“So tell me, how does it feel to use understanding as a predator’s tool?”

 _Good_ , Alana wanted to say. In all the turmoil, her elevated perception created order. She used it as a power in the way the Vergers used money to control all situations. But she was coy with him, “I’m using it as I’ve always used it; as a psychiatric tool.”

“Why not take this to Jack Crawford?” He laid out his suspicion.

“Jack Crawford is done at the FBI.” Alana shrugged. “A footnote in his own Evil Minds Museum.”

Mason was still not placated. He spoke gravely, using a switch on his electric wheel chair to raise himself up into almost a standing position to menacingly look her in the eye. “I’m curious Dr. ‘loom how I’ve found you in my pocket. Do tell. I’m all ears; they’ve just been redistributed.”

She met his hard stare with her own unwavering gaze. “You’re preparing the theatre of Hannibal’s death. I’m just doing my part to get him to the stage.”

This finally appeased him as he barred his teeth at her in a conspiring smile. “Well bra- _va_ Doctor.”

Alana reached into her the inside pocket of her blazer and took out a folded sheet of paper, “Here is a list of things to start tracking in order to find Hannibal. Types of wine, what kind of car or motorcycle he may drive; the list is incomplete. For insurance, you understand.”

She extended the paper toward him knowing it would always be out of his grasp. She was feeling a little vindictive from his personal inquisition.

“Margot?” Mason called for his sister. Margot had been resting against the wall as if out of frame and waiting for her cue. There were bright blocks of light from the windows on either side of her, but she stood in the shadows. She was almost camouflaged against the cedar paneling that went around the room in the similar-colored tweed suit she wore and a high-collared blouse with ruby buttons going down the front. Her auburn hair was styled in straight sheet like Alana hadn’t seen yet. Alana knew she’d been there but hadn’t acknowledged the woman until Mason addressed her. Margot pushed off the wall and briefly met her gaze. Her eyes grazed off of her indifferently like a caged lion peering at it spectators; appearing tame enough to pet but if you stuck your hand between the bars it would be bitten off.

Margot plucked the paper from Alana’s fingers as she walked between the two of them. She flipped open the sheet and silently read until Mason prompted her impatiently, “Well?”

“I know contacts, vendors to help with finding some of the items.” She said.

“Good, then **go**.” Her brother ordered and the woman ambled out of the room without another glance. Alana didn’t allow her eyes to track her movements, instead keeping her gaze fixed expectantly on Mason. Despite herself Alana felt slighted by Margot’s disregard of her.

“Dr. ‘loom you still have some contacts with the FBI?”

“Yes.”

“I want an update on what they have. There’s a burner phone on the desk to make calls. Place them through the number programmed in the phone, it’s for a switchboard in Las Vegas.” Alana nodded. The system was smart, two tiers of protection from anybody tracing their activities. It would be nearly impossible to detect their calls outgoing from the enormous volume of calls already being made through the switchboard from gamblers and bookies alike. The cell phone would probably be destroyed before she even left the premise.

Then Cordell appeared, tapping primly on the doorframe. “Sir, your bath is ready when you are.”

“Take me up.” He ordered sounding fatigued and the nurse came around to push his chair. Mason shouted back sluggishly as he departed. “Someone will be around to check on you later.”

After he departed the room became cottony-quiet in an unnerving way, like she could hear the silence. Alana stood in the strange space for moment and took a collective breath then went to the desk to begin her work. The mobile provided was the generic flip style that had fallen out of fashion a over decade ago but there was also a sleek, silver laptop with a military-grade encryption unit, which she was fairly certain was illegal to civilians, for her to use. Her delve into gathering and sorting through information started with a call to Paul Krendler’s desk. An ambitious and despicable man, he had a knack for climbing the bureaucratic ladder by pulling other people off of it. He’d immediately interjected himself into the high-profile investigation as soon as the Department of Justice got involved, which just happened to coincide with him vying for a promotion for Deputy Assistant Attorney General.

Krendler gladly threw the FBI under the bus with his sound bites that cycled through all the news outlets for months: _The FBI spectacularly failed to deliver justice. Jack Crawford should have been doing real investigative work, not consulting his band of mystics._ Alana doubted he could tell her much more about the case than Hannibal Lecter’s name but she didn’t want to speak with him, rather he had a conveniently chatty secretary who was well informed should anyone important call. Posing as another secretary, the woman unconsciously sung like a canary naming people involved with the case in their department as well as the agent to contact at Interpol. Alana wrote the names onto a yellow legal pad into two columns; people who may need to be paid off and people who wouldn’t be paid off. Paul Krendler made the not-list as too inconsequential.

Next she spoke to a forensic account to discuss the feasibility of finding any of Hannibal’s secret finances. The conversation was informative but ultimately not overly useful.

Alana then called Jimmy Price on her own phone and they had a gossipy conversation about Will wandering around Europe like a lost boy, first in Italy and now allegedly in Lithuania. She was saying goodbye and promising him they would get drinks soon when a maid came in with a plate of food. Wordlessly, she left it on the desk and wandered back out of the room. On the platter was a well-balanced meal including a glistening, pink pork chop that turned her stomach. Spearing the offending cutlet with a fork, she promptly dropped it into the wastebasket with a hollow thud and shoved it away with her foot. While Alana picked at the roasted asparagus and potatoes au gratin that remained, she switched to the computer for more research.

The FBI server required a login name with a password and hers had been deactivated when she stepped down from her position, not that she could have used it for this purpose anyways. But by some over sight Beverly Katz had never been removed from the system and Alana had an uncanny memory for details. She remembered the password from when she still had access to the files of the agent’s murder. The keys clicked under her fingers as she navigated the pages, reading the numerous reports. They ranged from a false sighting in Brazil to a man breaking into a blood storage facility in New Jersey to drink blood, claiming to be the infamous doctor. Alana took concise notes on everything.

Through all of this, Margot threaded through her mind. Her distance had been unsettling, the feeling not dissimilar to now, knowing the other woman sat somewhere else in this house, near but inaccessible. The sensation aggravated her but she understood the reason for Margot’s behavior. Mason exerted his power and probably inflicted pain on her for their whole lives. Any personal connection Margot had would be used against her, even if it was just one dinner and a few lingering glances. The distance, the flattened affect, were means of protection.

“Dr. Bloom, I’ve come to check on your progress.” Cordell’s large frame appeared in the doorway hands behind his back and politely menacing smile in place. Alana didn’t look up right away as she completed writing her thought, making him wait.

She set her pen down. “Finished. For now.”

“Do you mind if I take a look?” Alana leaned back and gestured for him to go ahead. He toddled over eagerly and scanned her work.

“Doesn’t look very promising. Not many leads.” He criticized with a little glee as if this proved her uselessness.

“One has to know where not to look before knowing where one should look.” She shot back.

“Hm.” He made a little noise of dissatisfaction but nodded. “I’ll take this to Mr. Verger.”

Alana stood. “I’ll be on my way for the evening. Send him my regards.”

“Oh no, you can’t.” Doemling said making her pause. “The storm has hit and roads will be closed by now. You can’t possibly make it back tonight.”

The wind outside suddenly howled as if to make his point and Alana’s eyes were drawn to the windows. Snow furiously fell and swirled against a black sky; wiping out the lawns and forests of the Verger Estate. It would be impossible to find the road let alone make it down it. She would have no choice except to stay the night. Turning her attention back to the nurse he proceed to tell her, “A guest room has been prepared for you to stay in. Nadia will escort you.”

The same plain maid who brought her dinner stepped in from the hall. Alana sighed, her shoulders shifting up indifferently but feeling vaguely trapped, “Very well.”

“Good night Dr. Bloom.” Cordell intoned as she passed. The doctor followed her guide back through the mansion, ending up back at the staircase in the front hall. Alana took the steps slowly as she walked up them, her eyes drawn to the ominous painting of the historical Verger, feeling like a death omen stared back at her.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6:  _I won't live hiding in the shadows..._

 

“I didn’t say but you looked lovely in that dress the other night.” This was an apology for the cold shoulder in the afternoon. At least that was what Alana inferred from her seat on a high-backed settee. She looked up from the book she’d plucked from the shelf, arcing a brow at Margot leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe. She replied a little surprised with the warmer greeting, “Thank you.”

“Settling in alright?” Margot moved into the guest room without invitation the door swinging shut behind her with an innocuous but definitive click. The heiress began to walk about, looking around as if she’d never been in it before. She still wore the tweed suit from earlier in the day though she’d undone the top few buttons of her blouse.

“Fine, thank you.” Alana nodded giving the room another cursory glance. The décor was not as elaborate as other places in the mansion but still refined to the most impeccable taste. Floor to ceiling bookshelves made up the east wall. Three narrow, tall windows draped with midnight velvet curtains faced the large four-post bed with a byzantine-patterned, russet throw covering a white goose down comforter. Alana recognized it from an acclaimed Italian designer whose name she couldn’t quite recall.

“Will your dog be okay for the night?” The question was sudden.

“My brother was watching her for the day. I’ve messaged him that I won’t be by until tomorrow to get her.”

“That’s fortunate.” Margot acknowledged but didn’t say anything further, letting the silence hang between them.

“Did you just come by to ask about my dog and tell me you liked my dress?” Alana asked with a touch of impatience. Then there was a rumble outside. Bizarrely a thunderstorm had started in the midst of the blizzard; the two storms dueled vigorously. Margot ignored her question, instead going to the window and opening the curtain. As she did, there was a white flash of lightning on her face, “Odd weather we are having. I’ve never seen lightning and thunder in the middle of a snow storm.”

Another roll of thunder reverberated through the house; the storm was practically on top of them. Alana slowly stood, leaving her cane to join Margot at the window with steady deliberation. She came to stand beside the taller woman, the pane of glass emanating cold like they were standing by a block of ice. The landscape was still obscured by the flurries of snowflakes that raced down and hail had begun to fall, gently plinking against the window. Then the blackness of the sky was split in half by the electric, spindly branch of lightning. Alana counted in her head in anticipation; 1… 2…3.

A boom of thunder sounded. She concurred. “Odd weather indeed. More odd to see you working with your brother.”

“Mason thinks that it will be a good family bonding activity.” Margot said in her monotone.

“And what do you think?”

“You know what they say: knowledge is power.”

Alana nodded then added. “You should have your contacts focus in Italy. Hannibal spent time there as a young man. He’s most likely going to gravitate toward a place he knows well.”

“You think he’d go somewhere so obvious?” Margot asked, mildly dubious.

“I think Will Graham was just there and he is who we have to stay ahead of. Our advantage is he isn’t thinking clearly. He isn’t looking at the facts and just following his instincts. But he will find Hannibal eventually, or Hannibal will find him.”

“What is going on between Dr. Lecter and Mr. Graham?” The other woman’s voice lilted up with interest. Dr. Bloom considered this many times before, especially after Will had gotten out of prison and all the uncertainty started. The two men fell into each other’s orbit, swinging around the other faster and faster, in smaller and smaller concentric paths until they collided. They had been many things to one another; doctor and patient, villain and victim, friend and friend, betrayed and betrayer. Like two souls playing out different lifetimes, if was difficult to define them.

She could only surmise. “Hannibal has been alone with his ideology, looking down at us from an ivory tower, then Will finds him and _sees him_ … They want to destroy each other and they’re in love. They are the same and contradictions. Mostly they understand each other, and isn’t that what everyone truly wants. To be understood.”

“Hmm… sounds complicated.” Margot said with a little sarcasm.

Alana let out a short laugh. “To say the least.”

They watched the storms for a moment. Another bolt of lightning splintered across the sky with a resounding roll of thunder that Alana could feel in her heart. Margot began to speak thoughtfully. “I’ve been thinking about the first night we spoke.”

“About anything specific?”

“You said our interests might intersect someday. I think they do now.”

Alana shifted her attention to Margot, “Do tell.”

“You want Hannibal gone and my brother can make that happen. I want my brother gone and I believe you can make that happen.”

“And how do you think I can accomplish that?” She tilted her head to the side.

“After Mason…” Her sentence hung for a moment before she selected an appropriate word. “Dismantles the doctor, I propose you turn him into the FBI.”

“That could be tricky. You don’t think it’s best for your brother to be… permanently disposed of as well?”

“That is also tricky. If my brother were to die, without a male heir produced, then everything goes to the Southern Baptist Church. I’d be destitute.”

“But if Mason were in prison…”

Margot completed her reflection. “Then as his sole living relative I would act as CEO of the company on his behalf.”

“There will be people who know we’ve helped Mason.” Alana pointed out.

Margot waved her hand dismissively. “No one could step forward without implicating themselves. Their loyalty and silence can be easily bought.”

“And Mr. Doemling? He doesn’t seem the type to switch sides.”

“He does pose a greater challenge, but not too great. He doesn’t strike me as the type to have a spotless record, and my brother will need a cellmate.”

“Your brother is paying me handsomely. Why should I risk it?” Alana questioned genuinely.

Margot turned back to the window, crossing her arms, she suddenly sounded listless. “Evening the scales. Turning the tides. Finding some order in all this chaos. Take your pick. I won’t live hiding in the shadows anymore.”

Studying Margot’s profile, she found tranquility in the slope of her nose and dramatic curl of her lashes and the pout of her lips. Alana felt the chaos settle and she began. “Hannibal used to love to wax poetically about the chaos theory, he even showed me a documentary with Stephen Hawking lecturing on it. There was a particular scene he enjoyed where a teacup falls off a table and breaks. Chaos theory stipulates that everything is expanding further and further into chaos and one day entropy will reverse, order will be restored. The teacup would come back together.”

Frosted green eye turn back to her intently as she finishes. “I felt like that teacup.”

She had been passed back and forth between Jack Crawford and Will and Hannibal as the three of them colluded and kept their secrets. Fissures in porcelain appearing when Will handed her a gun and told her to learn how to use it, when Freddie Lounds disappeared and then Jack magically revealed her back to life, when Hannibal held a kitchen knife and nonchalantly told her Jack was hiding in the pantry until he finally handed her off to Abigail Hobbs whispering in her ear to drop her. Margot took a half step toward her so she could feel the heat radiating off of her. Alana didn’t back away, just kept her eyes locked on the taller woman’s. She spoke in a raspy voice that soothed down her spine.

“I’ve found men to be brutish and clumsy at the best of times.” Margot moved her hand slowly but surely to Alana’s hip, coming to rest on it tenderly. “And you’re not the teacup anymore. You’ve been freed.”

“You’re right. I have a seat at the table now and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my place.” She declared. It felt like the storm brewed between them now. Electric charges sparking between their bodies, Alana felt the rumble in her heart again even though no thunder sounded now. She reached up and placed her own hand on the side of Margot’s slender neck, feeling the tendons flex under her touch as she promised. “I will help you keep your place.”

“And I’ll help you get yours.” Her words felt like a sworn oath.

Then, like they’d made the an agreement beforehand or as if it had been preordained in the stars, the two women pressed into the small gap between them, pulling each other in to finally kiss. Alana shuddered at the sensation of soft lips, like violet-petals, caressing her own. She tugged Margot impossibly closer, weaving both hands through the fine hair at base of her skull. Margot firmly held her hips, guiding them back to the lavish bed that waited for them. They toppled back onto the mattress; the bedding was cool and crisp underneath Alana and Margot was hot and pliant over her, draping her body perfectly over Alana’s like the expensive silk throw. Their kiss deepened, tongues stroking in tandem and tasting the heat of each other.

The word that came to Alana’s mind to describe their sex was divine. Clothing fervently shed, lips moving against skin as if murmuring prayers, crying out pleasure like exaltations. She had told Mason that she didn’t have any faith but looking down to the sight of Margot kneeling between her legs, speaking in tongues against her sex was a religious experience. They ardently worshipped into the night until finally collapsing, breathless and damp, next to each other. Alana felt fingertips stroking her neck as she slipped into a black, dreamless sleep.

-

When Alana slowly blinked awake, the first light of dawn came through the one window with the opened curtains, purple clouds faded across the sky as the last remnants of the storm dissipated. The light just illuminated the vacant space on the bed beside her. She smoothed her hand over the cooled sheets with swoop of disappointment. Then she noticed a garment bag hanging on the closet door. Wrapping herself in the comforter, Alana went to investigate. She found a square of paper pinned to the black vinyl. Looking closer in the dim morning light she saw it was a note in tidy handwriting that read: _Meet on the SW lawn at 9. -M_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:  _Snap, click, boom_

 

Margot drove a matte black Hummer over the snow-covered lawn, the ice cracking and creaking under the tires. The dark clouds of yesterday had cleared to a pale blue sky with large thunderheads floating amiably away on the horizon. The sun skimmed across the treetops, already bright and fierce, making the iced landscape glittery and sharp. As she pulled up to the southwest side of the manor Dr. Bloom’s figure came into view, leaning casually on her cane. She waited in the attire Margot had provided for her, a luxurious, chestnut-brown fur coat that fell to her mid-thigh, tight black pants tucked into riding boots that she knew were lined with fleece for warmth. Wayfarer sunglasses obscured her eyes and she’d applied that fuck-me red lipstick that Margot found entirely distracting. The woman looked sophisticated and a shade deadly, exactly her type. The brakes ground her to a halt beside the woman, jolting herself forward a little with the abruptness. She leaned over and pushed open the passenger side door, letting her round, wire-frame sunglasses slide down her nose to peer at Alana with an air of mischief.

“Want to go for a ride?” She asked by way of greeting.

“And where are we going?” Alana said slightly disgruntled, Margot guessed from waiting in the cold.

“You’ll see. Get in.” The doctor raised an eyebrow but followed the order climbing into the high cab with some effort. Margot pointed to the center consol. “There’s coffee for you.”

“Thank God.” Alana selected the to-go mug closest to her and immediately took in the strong brew. Her moan of contentment elicited the memory of last night for Margot, the sensation vibrating down her spine. The hushed ardor of their conversation bled into a kiss and then followed them as they fell madly into bed. Her mind buzzed with the hums and gasps she elicited from the brunette and her fingers remembered the infinite softness of her skin pale. Their night together had been inevitable. From the moment they met it felt as though they had fallen into step with one another and this had been the next fork in the road they took. The idea alarmed her a little. She gunned the engine a little as if to escape her train of thought, directing the car along the tree line, taking them away from the gray-stone house and out into the wide lawn behind it.

“How did you sleep?” Margot asked lightly once they were moving forward.

Alana smirked. “You tell me.”

She paused like she was really considering her answer then murmured, “Beautifully.”

The doctor’s smile widened to a new level of brilliance before she smothered it, turning away to look out the window. Margot just grinned and focused on driving. As they reach the end of the open lawn, she veered the car onto a rough, dirt road into the forest. The dynamic between Alana and herself was foreign but admittedly exhilarating; there never was a morning after with pancakes and syrupy smiles and witty banter for Margot. Her affairs would conclude as quickly as they began. A coy glance at a bar, a few cocktails, then a luxury hotel room and Margot would be stepping back into her high heels and out the door before first light. It was simpler that way and truthfully she never really cared to stick around her temporary companions finding the women to be beautiful but generally shallow, bordering on dull.

Her youth did have a few fleetingly passionate relationships but those abruptly ended when she was 20 years old. She had a girlfriend, Judy, and they were in love. Or as in love as one could be at 20. Margot brought her home to the mansion for winter break her sophomore year of college, which ended being a tragic mistake. She remembers the incident in flashes; the flash of Mason’s maniacal smile when he caught them in a compromising position; her flashing down the hall after him, trying to catch him while he hollered gleefully for their father; the flash of her father’s belt buckle as pulled it from his pants. She’d been sent to a conversion therapy camp with a fractured collarbone. Two weeks later, she completed the program in record time, enthusiastically proclaiming her reformation. When she was allowed to return to campus, Margot discovered Judy had been kicked out of school with rumors about heroin being found in her dorm room running rampant; no doubt Molson was behind it. Margot never heard from her again and she hadn’t been in a relationship since. Only carefully, occasionally divulging in those one-night stands. But circumstances were different now and Dr. Bloom was too alluring to resist, definitely neither shallow nor dull.

The car emerged from the trees and into another snow covered field with a small cedar-board cabin at a bit of a distance and two men huddled around a piece of machinery. Stepping out of the car, Margot could hear the deep, indistinct mumble of their conversation and see their cigarette smoke pluming above them. She waved and they waved back in recognition.

“Come on.” The heiress indicated for Alana to follow as she started walking to the trunk, the top layer of snow so iced over she didn’t sink into the 10 or so inches that fell yesterday. Margot opened the hatch revealing a long, flat case. Alana had joined her and watched expectantly for further explanation. Flipping open the latches on the case, she lifted the lid to show a shotgun nestled in gray foam. “Have you ever been trap shooting before?”

Alana’s fingers came up to brush against the polished cherry wood of the handle. “I’ve fired handguns at a range but nothing like this.”

They were not the type to stare at each other moony-eyed over pancakes so this would have to do. With a small grin she handed Alana noise-canceling headphones and slung her own pair around her neck. Margot lifted the gun from its confines and picked up a box of ammunition as well, then led them to back to the front of the car. Setting the shells on the flat hood, she left the gun unloaded as she began to explain, “It’s different than shooting a fixed target. You’ll line your sights to the beading on the barrel. Here.”

Margot showed her the small ball of metal welded at the end. She raised the butt of the gun to her shoulder and continued, “There are different techniques but I track the shot, follow along with the arc of the target, and then you have to anticipate where it will be, get ahead and pull the trigger and follow through.”

Margot demonstrated the steps as she spoke, swinging the gun through the air and pulling the trigger that made a hollow click before she finished the full sweeping motion. “Want to give it a try?”

Alana nodded, resting her cane against the grill of the car. Margot dropped shells into the barrel and handed over the loaded weapon. She advised before they clapped the headphones over their ears, “You will want to put your good leg back and when you take the shot don’t tense up or you’ll bruise your shoulder. Just call ‘pull’ when you’re ready.”

Alana mounted the shotgun to her shoulder, taking a moment to line up her left eye to the sights and firmly called, “Pull!”

One of the men tugged on a lever and a clay disc came shooting from the trap machine. With decent form, the brunette trailed the gun after the disc and pulled the trigger. There was a muffled blast behind the headphones but no sound of clay shattering as the target disappeared into the tree line. Margot stepped in behind the woman so close the fur coat tickled her chin and her hand unconsciously landed on the hip in front of her, “You’re a bit early on the trigger. Relax into it, you have more time than you think and remember to follow through.”

Her head ticked down in confirmation and Margot backed away as Alana cocked the gun and ordered for another pull. This time she tracked the shot and after the crack of the bullet the clay disc exploded in the air sending bits of shrapnel raining down in the field. Alana turned back to her with a flashy, pleased grin and Margot’s lips curled up at her in return, “You’re a natural.”

“Let’s see what you’ve got.” Alana passed the gun off to her.

Margot smirked as she lifted the gun and widened her stance. “Pull two!”

A clay disc flew followed quickly by another and just as fast she fired off two shots striking both her targets with ease. Now she turned back to Alana expectantly as if waiting for her evaluation. Margot was certain the doctor rolled her eyes behind her dark sunglasses, but the corners of her mouth were tugging upward as she said, “Show off.”

They fell into a rhythm then with a steady tempo kept by the clack of bullets dropping into the barrel, the snap of cocking the gun, followed by a click then boom. Then handing the shotgun back and forth like they were part of its mechanisms. The women didn’t speak much in between rounds. Margot would sometimes offer advice on improving Alana’s aim, leaning in close and gently moving her into a better stance, her touch lingering longer than necessary each time. While Alana would compliment her marksmanship and discretely brush against her as they exchanged positions. But mostly it was the stacco snap, click, boom that ticked the morning onward until the chilled air smelled of gunpowder and gleaming golden shell casings were littered at their feet. Eventually though Margot felt the coldness taking hold and had been keeping in mind the detriment this could be to Alana. She remembered the first night they’d met when she’d literally fallen into her arms and the unexpected concern she felt at the other woman’s pain and still felt now.

“Would you like to warm up?” She asked with Alana readily responding in the affirmative. She started the car remotely, the engine grumbling to life, and the two women went to the back of it for Margot to tuck away their headphones and the weapon, shifting the case out of the way so they could perch in the bed of the trunk and feel the warm air from the vents blowing at their backs. Margot opened a side-panel in the car where she had stashed a thermos of coffee and a couple porcelain cups. After pouring Alana a cup she reached into the pocket of her forest green hunting vest and pulled out an orange pill bottle, the label reading Vicoden accompanied with strict instructions that the prescription was only intended for the person named on it, which she intended on ignoring, “Breakfast?”

She asked with a raised brow and the doctor gave a throaty laugh, pushing her sunglasses up to rest on top of her head and revealing her sparkling eyes. “You remembered my favorite.”

Margot deposited a pill into her hand and watched as Alana held her gaze momentarily biting the white oval between her teeth then swallowed it with a sip of coffee. The heiress opted out of partaking instead storing the bottle back away and pulling out a pack of cigarettes, the Matisse blue packaging slightly crushed from being in her pocket was familiar and comforting. She’d been smoking them on and off since she was 15 years old when a girl from her French boarding school nabbed a half-smoked pack from one of the teachers. Her and a few other girls snuck to the roof to pass around a cigarette, Turkish tobacco sweet and heavy as they coughed and laughed, becoming light-headed and giggly as nicotine rushed their systems unfamiliar and thrilling. If she held the smoke in her lungs, Margot could hold that feeling in her chest once again and it relaxed her like she was back on that roof with the Parisian skyline painted with swirls of pinks and oranges of the setting sun. It was this feeling she was addicted to; more than the stimulant chemicals that seeped into her blood with each drag. She wanted to explain this to Alana but had a more pressing matter and had to hope there would be another time to tell her. She let the companionable silence sit a moment longer with steam silently rising from Alana’s coffee cup and delicate tendrils of smoke unfurling from her cigarette.

But finally Margot had to break the stillness. She took off her sunglasses to look at Alana directly as she breathed out. “I’m more acquainted with Will Graham than you know.”

“Oh?” Alana said behind the rim of her cup, seemingly unperturbed by the confession however her voice was too measured with vague interest and blatant indifference that Margot knew a nerve had been struck. She didn’t know the whole story but from what she could glean from the archived press coverage of the Chesapeake Ripper murders for which Will was prosecuted, Alana had taken a protective role over the accused man. It had been all over the papers that she was testifying on his behalf and rumors of an affair were abound though unsubstantiated. If there were any truth to it, the infatuation must have ended around the time of the trials because the pairing that emerged was that of the Drs. Bloom and Lecter. In hindsight Margot could understand why. Will Graham had a certain wounded-bird aura about him women could be attracted to; someone to nurture and mend though was ultimately no good for them. But Hannibal, he was intelligent and capable and suitably handsome if one were into that sort of thing. She could see the appeal for Alana who may have been grasping for stability. Hannibal presented as an equal for her to build something solid with opposed to the uncertainty and ebbing sanity of Will. Of course her trust had been misplaced and so had Margot’s.

She went on to explain though she had a suspicion that Alana already knew this part. “Dr. Lecter was my psychiatrist for some time. Court ordered after I tried to attack Mason.”

“Hannibal mentioned that he was having sessions with both you and your brother. I thought that it was a conflict of interest.”

Margot nodded in acknowledgment, “Dr. Lecter doesn’t seem to have an issue with a little conflict… But that is how I met Will. I passed him coming out of Lecter's office one evening and he intrigued me. He had this look of being unraveled then being shoved out the door only half mended. He had a habit of making you feel like that…”

From there she succinctly and carefully unfolded the strange, sordid tale. Margot admitted she sought out the disgraced FBI agent. After she recognized him as the divisive media sensation it had not been hard to find him. Then they started a stilted, running conversation where they compared notes on their respective therapies. It quickly became apparent that the doctor had unorthodox techniques. Margot thinks back to sitting in Dr. Lector’s office with the dark wood, the lighting perpetually dimmed as if early morning and you’re still half-asleep. The room smelled of peat smoke, saccharine old books and something herbal, like rosemary maybe. Hannibal’s voice murmured low and compelling in her ear as if uttering an incantation. _It would be therapeutic for you to kill your brother. You know you will have to kill him Margot. You’ve known it for years._

The atmosphere, his words, it was as if it were all perfectly plotted and planned to subconsciously hypnotize her down his maddeningly path. And she’d followed willing, perhaps stupidly, lulled into a sense of confidence, thinking that this time she had someone looking out for her best interest. But Hannibal wasn’t just looking out for her. He had her under a magnifying glass and he was more curious to see if he could set her on fire. _What legacy will you leave behind?_ **I don’t get a legacy.** _Unless you make one._ And with that simple conversation he’d struck a match inside her that would lead to her destruction. “It was Hannibal’s suggestion that I try to conceive an heir. He wasn’t explicit but it was him without a doubt. It was my idea to utilize Will in the endeavor.”

She could feel Alana stiffen at the revelation but she remained stoically silent so Margot continued in a business-like manner as if she were talking about stock options or profit margins. “It was convenience really. We’d developed a repertoire and I think he needed something to ground him to reality. Maybe we both did... It was only the one time but it was enough.”

“Did Will know?” Alana asked, her voice surprisingly neutral.

“I told him after the fact. He was angry, of course, but not entirely rejecting of the notion to be a father. It was all for naught anyways.” She felt her throat constrict at this part of the story, “Mason came to me for one of his threatening little chats he likes to give. He kept saying I was glowing. I knew he found out about the pregnancy.”

She paused to gather herself as she inhaled her cigarette. “I’ve replayed it over and over in my head. I should have just walked away and not stopped, fled to a remote part of the world where we could have been safe. Or maybe Mason would have been ready to snare me regardless of when I ran. I’m not sure what’s worse: the could-have-been or the possible futility of it all.”

Giving voice to her thoughts, sharing them with Alana had a liberating effect that she had not anticipated. Her stomach still churned and coiled with the phantom pain of loss but it was easier to bear with the doctor sitting next to her listening with the practiced patience of a psychiatrist. When Alana spoke however she didn’t offer her sympathy or a trite turn of phrase for her to reflect on the way she may have done with a patient once upon a time, rather she asked with an edge to her tone, “What did Mason do?”

“I tried to leave in the middle of the night but there was a car crash. I woke up in an operating room with my brother telling me that the surgeons were going to remove my reproductive organs. They took everything from me.” Her words were void of emotion but solitary tear rushed down her cheek before she could stop it. Alana didn’t comfort or coddle her, allowing Margot the time to regain control for which she was grateful.

Her indignation did rise for her though as she bristled, “How could they? They’re medical professionals for god's sake-“

Margot cut her off bitterly, “Everyone has their price. I was just a wily house cat to Mason. I ran out and got myself into trouble then he paid to have me spayed. Even if I get out again there will be no more kittens for him to have to drown.”

"Well your brother is a rabid dog that needs put down.” Alana said with finality, her eyes bluer than the sky and colder than the frost around them. The Verger found herself relieved that the prickly iciness seemed not to be directed at her.

“I just wanted you to know what happened in case this changes your mind about anything” She sought the confirmation, needing to know for sure where they stood, wondering if that old protective instinct for Will would come back.

Dr. Bloom must have realized her worry, her expression softening, though only slightly, as she place her hand over Margot’s that rested in the space between them. “I’ve felt responsible for Will Graham for too long and it wasn’t something I wanted in the first place. Whatever decisions he has made or will make isn’t my burden anymore… I have different allegiances now.”

Margot hadn’t been smoking her cigarette and it had mostly turned to ash; she flicked it away into the snow as Alana set down her half-emptied cup. Their attentions honed in more acutely onto one another, leaning slightly into each other’s space with their lips inching closer together. “We still can’t kill my brother.”

She reminded Alana who only shrugged dismissively and gave her a conspiring smile, “Where there is a will, there is a way.”

The doctor didn’t let her argue and Margot didn’t care to for the time being as Alana slipped her hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in for a kiss. 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:  _Wear something red._

 

Alana sat at a table in a rustic, amber-hued coffee shop when her phone vibrated next to her, a notification popping up to alert that she had received a text. The sender was only identified as the letter M in her phone. It drew her lips into a discreet grin as she swiped her finger across the screen to read a brief message: **In town for the night. Dinner at the Pendry?**

Her finger tapped out a simple reply without any hesitation: **Yes.**

A response came back immediately: **Meet in room 702 at 8pm.**

Followed in quick session by another message: **Wear something red.**

Her smile widened at the request and she began planning for the future evening in her mind. It would be a welcome distraction from her work, which had turned into a waiting game. One of Margot’s contacts reported that a Ducati Multistrada 1200 motorcycle was bought in Rome then being traded in just outside Florence complete with matching VIN numbers for verification. The bike was a sportier model than Hannibal would generally go for but more interestingly it had been exchanged for an extravagant 1968 Mercedes-Benz Convertible Coupe; a vehicle Alana had flagged on her list as an item of particular interest. It would seem that Hannibal was confident to go about his life with little discretion, which she gladly and fully would utilize to her advantage. Unfortunately the name on the registrations, Leonardo Barilla, was a dead end. While Hannibal may have been acting reckless with his conspicuous purchases, he was still incredible smart and knew to burn the identity. He’d have gotten a falsified VIN number and registration papers by now as well she was sure.

The breadcrumb he left behind was enough though to narrow Alana’s focus considerably. With a small vintage car like the Mercedes he wouldn’t be doing any long distance traveling. In fact the car would be perfect for navigating the narrow streets and tight turns of Florence, with the right amount of flair while blending into the aesthetics of the city. Alana felt certain to deploy phase two of her plan to locate Dr. Lecter. Getting the funds from Margot, she placed a man on the ground to begin a search of specialized grocers, butcher shops, and wineries. Her private investigator was armed with a list of items she’d crafted with excruciating detail that would with little doubt lead to finding her prey. It had been over two weeks since he’d been sent and with little news she was getting impatient, anxiousness starting to gnaw in her gut in her quiet moments alone.

Not that she hadn't been able to keep busy with other research, physical therapy twice a week, consultations with former colleagues, and, while she hadn’t returned to the Verger Estate yet, Margot had not been a stranger. This latest invitation was one of many that dappled the past weeks. There had been a private lunch of soft cheeses, peppered meats, fruits and an abundance of wine in the cabin of a yacht while snow floated down onto the harbor as if time were moving in slow motion. Margot came by spontaneously one evening with incredibly spicy Indian takeout that they ate in front of her fireplace; Alana could recall the heat from the flames and the food that crept into her cheeks and then into their kisses as they peeled each others clothes off. Then there was a drive into the country to do some antiquing with Margot gunning the engine of her Aston Martin Valkyrie down the twisting roads. They hadn’t made it to any antique shops, rather stopping at a quaint inn and having sex on a colonial era four-poster bed for the entire afternoon. They’d ending up breaking the bed and Margot had to write a substantial check for the damages to a fuming manager. But they skidded out of the parking lot, the roaring engine nearly drowning out their laughter.

Alana felt herself falling further and further into Margot with every time they met; to call it an attraction seemed inadequate. It was more like a chemical reaction, their molecules rearranging and connecting so they became an entirely new state of being. Before they were solid and now they ebbed and flowed together like liquid mercury, silvery and amorphous. However for as much it felt like they were drawn together, after every date, encounter, tryst, whatever it was they were doing Margot would never linger. The heiress distractedly brushed her lips against her cheek as she put Alana into a taxi on the pier. She left in the middle of the night for her to wake up chilled and alone, next to a dwindling fire though an afghan had been carefully tucked around her. And she deposited Alana onto her doorstep after their rigorous afternoon delights as the sun was setting and rushed off like she would turn into a pumpkin if she didn’t return home before nightfall. When they were together Margot was engaging and present but it felt conditional. Like it was only a matter of time before she was pulling away, casual and unconcerned, as if their departure from one another was entirely inconsequential when it felt like it was tearing against their very nature. Her behavior was incongruent and aggravating to Alana who found she was bothered with Margot but herself as well.

Post-Hannibal, Alana thought that she would be done with any sort of relationship beyond one she could use for her own gain. She assumed that the murderous man had irreparably broken the part of her that could want another person; that could fall in love. Yet here she was, not _fallen_ , but rather _in_ this state with Margot. It felt more real than anything she’d experienced before and she couldn’t help but want more of it. So something like hope now fluttered in her chest at the prospect of this evening, a night in a hotel together, uninterrupted and full of promise.

“Here we are. Two cinnamon dolce lattes.” Jimmy Price sing-songed as he set down a large white mug in front of her, the cup brimming with foam and sweetness like her companion.

“Our favorite.” He gave a wink and smiled broadly at her with so much enthusiasm that his eyes disappeared into tight slits. Alana returned the smile, quickly locking her cell phone so the screen went black. She’d been so lost in her thoughts she’d nearly forgotten that Jimmy had just been up at the counter to pick up their beverages. They had finally arranged to catch up over that cup of coffee she’d promised some time ago. This was something they had done regularly but had been remiss as of late for obvious reasons. They would indulge in the sugary, caloric-heavy drink and chat aimlessly for hours. Alana doubted she would enjoy either of these things now. Still she maintained appearances as she pulled the mug closer and said appreciatively. “Perfect, thank you.”

Jimmy had always been an expressive man but today he seemed overly exuberant. It could be that Alana was less tolerant of his personality type than she once was or hopefully he had something interesting to share with her from the Bureau; he had a horrible poker face. She wasted no time, “So what’s new?”

He prattled on a little about how Brian Zeller was doing, and complained about an interim section chief who made them fill out paperwork in triplicate, until he finally landed on a topic that interested Alana. He leaned forward and lowered his tone dramatically though no one was around them who would care about what he had to say. “Oh and did you hear? Jack is in Italy now.”

“Really? I hadn’t heard.” Of course she had heard but one of the better ways to get people to talk was feigning ignorance. They just loved to be the first to know and flaunting that fact.

“Yes, apparently he went as a way to say goodbye to his wife, Bella may she rest in peace, but you know that is only half of it…” He spoke rapidly and she gave him a concerted expression, occasionally nodding her head, as if totally enthralled. She took a sip of her drink, trying not to wince at the mouthful of frothy cinnamon, and she settled in to listen.

-

The Sagamore Pendry Hotel was one of the best hotels in Baltimore. The historic redbrick building sat formidable and grand right on the waters edge, an homage to the old roots of the city, and the inside of the hotel was just as stately with dark mahogany finishes, glittering chandeliers, and plush maroon carpets. Though Alana barely noticed any of it as she glided through the lobby, following her feet up to room 702 as if pulled by a string. She tapped her knuckles against the door, only having to wait a moment for it to swing open.

“Good evening.” Margot greeted and stepped back for Alana to enter.

“Hello.” Alana returned as Margot kissed each of her cheeks and stripped her of her coat. The woman took a moment to stare at Alana’s attire. Her dress was red, as requested, with a sweetheart neckline that pushed up her breasts and suggestive off-the-shoulder sleeves that displayed the slope of her neck and sharp collarbones. From the raptness of Margot’s gaze it would appear she liked it; red had always been Alana’s color. The doctor took the time to appraise Margot as well, equally as taken with her appearance. She wore a satiny black dress, the material twisted dastardly around her frame making Alana wanted to claw at it.

Margot drew away from their collective reverie, walking to a small end table where two drinks sat. “I have a table downstairs but I thought we’d start with cocktails up here.”

“Perfect, thank you.” Alana unknowingly echoing the same thank you she’d given Jimmy just that afternoon but actually meaning it this time.

“Any business to take care of?” Margot preferred to dispense with any un-pleasantries involving Mason at the beginning.

“Nothing yet. Still waiting to hear from my contact in Italy.” Alana sipped her drink, a Manhattan, and looked around the room. An inviting king-sized bed with perfectly white bedding was situated along an exposed brick wall and a seating area with leather furniture the color of chocolate sat in front of the bed. The most catching feature of the room was the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the harbor. The city skyline glowed orange, its reflection rippling in the inky water of the bay. She turned back to Margot when she began to speak.

“Hm, Mason is getting impatient.” She warned. “When he’s like this he gets volatile.”

“I suppose I could arrange a little demonstration to help settle him down.” Alana conceded with a sigh. “Will he be available this week?”

“Not until Friday. He and Nurse Cordell are traveling to see a doctor, some dermatologist who specialized in scar tissue. He’ll be in New York until Thursday.”

“I'll make an appointment for Friday then.” Alana grinned at the news that Mr. Verger was so far away. She didn’t fear Mason by any means, but it was a comfort to have him at a distance. She didn’t fear rats but that didn’t mean she wanted them in her house.

“Good. Now finish your drink. I have something for you before dinner.” The rest of their drinks disappeared quickly then Margot ushered Alana by the hips to stand in front of a large mirror with an ornate frame.

”Wait here.” She said in Alana’s ear and slipped away only to return a moment later behind her clasping a necklace around her neck; a gorgeous, extravagant necklace of teardrop shaped rubies dripping elegantly from a delicate gold chain. It looked like it belonged on her, the the jewels resting against her chest with surprising weight, like the piece had been made only for her and this moment. Red always had been her color after all Alana thought again idly.

“It’s magnificent.” Her fingertips gently touched the largest center ruby.

“I saw it and thought of you.” Margot confessed and Alana shifted her gaze to look at Margot in the mirror. The taller woman was still looking at her chest, the rapturous look returning in her eyes. Alana had started to sense a pattern that Margot took pleasure in dressing her in fine things, the fur coat Margot insisted she keep after their morning of shooting, a Cartier watch she’d brought with the Indian food, this necklace, all seemed to delight her and Alana realized it was infectious. Green eyes finally met hers as Margot pulled her closer so her back was flush against her front in a tantalizing way, hands began rubbing up and down her sides, and Margot nuzzled behind her ear.

“I can’t wait to fuck you only wearing this necklace.” She said plainly as if simply commenting on a completely unimportant matter. Now she kissed Alana’s neck softly, then hot and wet as her tongue pulsed against her skin.

Alana moaned at the attention and gasped when she felt Margot nip at her with teeth. She husked out, voice low with desire, “Why wait?”

Then Margot pressed her lips more insistently against Alana’s neck, hands roaming hungrily against her until she unzipped her dress delving her hands inside to tear at her undergarments. Alana pushed herself back into Margot wantonly and their passion consumed them. It was almost like the first night they spent together, but now they were rediscovering a more primal, savage religion; Alana felt as though she was being sacrificed. Margot propped against the headboard, Alana straddling her thighs, straddling her altar, while Margot thrust her fingers deep, curling and dragging against the most sensitive part inside her. Alana throwing her head back in pleasure, exposing her pale throat, the necklace slashed across it like a ceremonial wound of bleeding rubies.

Alana laid herself on top of Margot, feeling every tremble and quiver of pleasure from the auburn-haired woman vibrate against her with her fingers buried inside of her. Then she buried her tongue into Margot’s sex demanding another orgasm from her, and another, until Margot ripped her head away from between her legs for a reprieve.

They never made it downstairs for dinner. Instead Margot order more Manhattans and tiramisu from room service that they ate in bed wrapped in sheets.

-

There was a shuffling noise in the distance of Alana’s unconscious. She wanted to ignore it, let the dark gravity of sleep pull her back down, but something inside her twitched and she woke up. It was still night, the hotel room cast in dark navy tones, and the spot next to her in the bed was empty. Alana blinked against the darkness; trying to make sense of the obscured surrounds until she could make out Margot in the sitting an armchair, already back in her dress and slipping her heels on.

It was happening again. The cold feeling of distance settled in her chest as Margot made to recede away into the night. She sat up on her elbows, speaking through the shadows, “Come back to bed.”

Margot’s fluid movements faltered for a second but she recovered quickly, standing and smoothing her hands down her dress, “I can’t.”

“Come back to bed.” Alana reiterated more firmly.

“I can’t. You know I can’t.” Her voice hardened slightly and Alana felt herself becoming angry, her emotions mirroring Margot's.

“I don’t know that.” She snapped. “Explain to me why you can’t.”

“Mason will know. He-“

Alana interrupted her. “Your brother is three states away. He isn’t the reason.”

“We have to be careful.” She insisted.

“We are careful. Mason is fixated on his revenge over Hannibal. He has no idea about this. He isn’t coming for you.” Alana challenged. Her words only served to raise Margot’s hackles instead of placate her.

“Don’t trivialize this. You know what he has done.” Her tone dipped low and dangerous, warning her to back off. “You know what he is capable of.”

Alana wouldn’t be intimidated though. “I’m not trivializing what Mason has done. What he did to you is atrocious and inhumane but you’re using it as an excuse.”

“An excuse for what?” She scoffed.

“An excuse to hide behind your walls, to not let yourself feel anything. You’re not frightened of Mason, you’re frightened of being alive.” The words rang bitter and true in the space between them and silence fell down around them like a steel trap, sharp and final. Margot stood frozen for a minute. Alana couldn’t see her expression but could see the rigidness of her posture. She had pushed too far, made it too real, yet she didn't regret it. Until Margot moved with her steady, deliberate pace, her voice tight as she only offered her a goodbye, “Goodnight Alana.”

The brunette watched her go to the door, opening it so a solid shaft of yellow light from the hall cut through the room. Alana called out suddenly, “Margot, your necklace.”

She grasped the rubies in her fist and yanked uncaringly so the clasp broke and freed the necklace from around her throat. She extended her hand out to Margot in a gesture to return the jewelry. Where the piece had once filled her with warm, devoted pleasure, it now filled her coppery distain. The heiress stared at her with frosted sea glass eyes, giving away nothing and taking nothing. Then with a slow blink she turned and walked out into the light, the door clicked shut, and the room fell back into downy blackness.

Alana lowered her hand, squeezing the necklace in her hand so hard the gems dug painfully into her flesh. She forced her mind to go blank and let it fill only with the solid pain.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9:  _We can be heroes_

 

“Alana Bloom?”

“Yes?” She cautiously clutched her robe closed at her chest and gave an imposing look to the man standing on her front porch.

“I have an over-night package for you. It’s priority and requires your signature.” He produced a rectangular box about the dimensions of notebook paper. Then she noticed his yellow van with a red stripe going down the side and a logo stitched onto his knitted hat; she recognized the company for being an international carrier and her interest piqued. He handed over the package and a small tablet he pulled from his coat pocket. She scrawled illegibly on the screen but he didn’t say anything about it as he accepted the signature and went back to his route.

“Thank you.” Alana called distractedly, retreating back inside. She went to the kitchen and took a knife from the butcher’s block to slice through the tape. She dumped the contents of the box onto her counter and loosely wrapped in heavy crepe paper she pulled out a bundle of receipts; old fashioned, Italian receipts. They didn’t look like they belonged of this time, the creamy-yellow paper felt wispy under her fingers, but they were dated from this year with one from as recently as three days ago. As she shuffled through them, she realized all the purchases were similar happening in weekly, sometimes twice a week, intervals. More important were the items listed on the slips. In a fine, looping handwriting she recognized significant wines and truffles and cheeses that kicked Alana’s heart rate up a pace. Her meeting with Mason this evening would go better than she expected. She smirked pleased with this development then tucked them into a neat pile and floated back upstairs to finish getting ready.

The days leading up to this Friday had been slow and cumbersome leaving Alana feeling prickly. She snapped at her mother over the phone when she asked if Alana was doing okay one too many times. She responded to a few emails from other psychiatrists seeking her advice with scathing and well-worded critiques of their incompetence then told them her fees and to set up an appointment, though she had unsurprisingly not heard any reply from them. She had even lashed out at the mailman for some infraction she couldn’t recall at present. Her agitation throbbed outward, growing in range as the radio silence with Margot pressed on; it was this persisting lack of contact with the Verger that was the epicenter of her anger.

No texts, no calls, and no impromptu visits since Margot stepped out of the hotel room, eerily calm and vacant. Alana still felt that vacancy in her chest though she had not made an attempt to reach out, stubbornly refusing to give any ground in the matter. She had already been strong-willed and now it was like iron. So the dead air on unknowing hung between them making the days long and Alana mean.

However, now that her return to the Verger estate rapidly approached she felt grains of dread dripping in the back of her mind like sand falling too quickly through a time glass, leaving her feeling buried. She was unable to decide if it would be worse to see Margot or not see her at all. Either way Alana felt like she would leave the mansion knowing what the future held for her and Margot.

As she gave herself a final, satisfactory glance in the mirror Alana paused at her open jewelry box. The broken ruby necklace lay on the top and she considered taking it with her to return for good. But then next to it was her necklace with the gold starfish pendant. It had been a gift from her father when she turned 18; a memento of what had been her last summer on the beach in Cape Cod. It really wasn’t her taste but she’d fallen in love with it. The other girls she'd grown up with had gotten gold crosses for their 18th birthdays. But her dad had chosen differently, and she cherished that small bit of differentness, keeping it close all these years. Now when she looked at it, it meant something else entirely. She saw Margot wearing it, the star resting nicely on her warmer skin tone, rising and falling a little on her chest as she breathed in and out with a steady gaze on her face.

She plucked up the necklace, putting it in the pocket of her blazer; if red was Alana’s color then gold was definitely Margot’s.

-

Margot spent her week in a sulk and on the verge of drunkness. She had been on the estate for the past five days, listlessly wandering from room to room, and wondering at the unnecessary vastness of her family home. She looked at the priceless heirlooms that had been gathered over time; a solid gold spyglass from an English merchant ship at the turn of the century, a voluptuous fertility statue pilfered from a conquered indigenous people in South America, a shadowy Rembrandt painting of expressionless, dull men gathered around a table, first edition books from the likes of Melville, Twain, and one from Ernest Hemingway with a personal inscription written by the author to a great-great uncle Verger. The excess didn’t end there; closets filled with fine clothing from Armani suits to Vera Wang gowns, safes filled with Henry Winston diamonds and Piaget pearls. Margot looked and looked but only found a hollow feeling in all of the rooms. The belongings meant nothing to her and yet the desire to own them, possess them, consumed her with a desperate, wild need.

The money, the house, the trinkets would be her winner’s trophy, glorious and shiny but ultimately an empty cup. It seemed impossible to want more than the nearly infinite Verger fortune but she did want more. Margot wanted crystalline blue eyes watching her with a peculiar intentness, red lips curling at her with dangerous amusement, and the full, warm feeling she had come to associate with Alana that she couldn’t bring herself to name. It was foolish and perilous to want it with Mason still around she repeated to herself over and over in those days she’d been alone.

Though when Mason came home yesterday, he barely spared her a glance before he and Cordell shut themselves up inside his rooms to no doubt be diabolical. The truth Alana had told her in the hotel room cracked open more. She’d cut off her feelings to avoid the pain and in doing so she’d cut herself off from feeling anything. It wasn’t Mason’s tyrannical grip constricting her anymore rather her own fears. She remembered that first night with Dr. Bloom when they just had a drink and started their discussion, only an inkling of what was to come. It had felt as if she were standing on a precipice. She realized now that she was not standing alone.

Margot walked silently through an obsolete servants’ passage, her Chinese silk pajamas not even making a rustling sound and slippers barely a shuffle. Her brother was meeting with the doctor and she was intent on being apart of it despite not having received an invitation. The narrow hall dead-ended into a flat panel on a hinge that seamlessly blended into a wall on the other side. If one didn’t know where to look, one would never notice it. She only needed to open the surreptitious door a little to hear the on going in the room. Margot could hear a muffled conversation as she approached. Toeing the door open a sliver the voices became clearer and louder. She leaned against the wall to listen.

Alana spoke with a slightly dramatic lilt as if she prepared to put on a show for Mason. “A table setting from the home of Dr. Hannibal Lecter. The silverware is 19th Dutch from Christofle. The plate is Gien French china from Tiffany. The table linen is damask cotton, also from Christofle.”

Margot couldn’t see now but she had observed some house staff carrying in items for display. She could imagine the refined table placement in her mind as Mason chimed in his nasally voice. “You’ve got to hand it to the man, he has the most marvelous taste.”

Alana continued without comment. “I’ve discovered a pattern of purchases. An echo of the life he lived in Baltimore.”

Margot perked up at this. She must have heard good news from her contact in Italy. Mason however was in a capricious mood and he diverted the conversation, his tone gravelly and suggestive. “He likes music, he like wine, he likes food and he likes you. Though those last two may be the same thing. How do you taste Dr. ‘loom? Sweet, I bet. I’m sure you got a taste of him too. Spitters are quitters, and you don’t strike me as a quitter.”

Red swarmed around the edges of her vision and her temples pulsed with violence at the insinuation behind Mason’s crass words. Clenching her fists, she pushed her back into the wall to stay put. There was a moment of silence in the room then Alana went on with her presentation apparently unperturbed if only a little impatient, like she were a school teacher tired of the class clowns antics. “The first step in the development of taste is to be willing to credit your own opinion. But in the areas of food and wine, I have to follow Hannibal’s precedents.”

Alana’s indifference calmed her and with a deep breath the ire in Margot settled. In moments like this one she was reminded that she and Mason were ultimately cut from the same cloth. There was darkness lurking in her, not so blatant and savage as her brother’s, but the same; a cruel spasm that wanted to hurt and would take pleasure in doing so. The difference being her impulse only flared when dealing with stupidity or rudeness or if there was a threat to herself and-

The thought dropped off in her mind, trying to leave a blank space yet to be filled in. It was too late though, the thought had been formed and Margot succumbed to it. She would react violently to any threat against her and Alana.

The doctor was proudly revealing her spoils now. “A receipt from a Florentine fine grocer, Vera dal 1926, for two bottles of Batard-Montrachet and some tartufi bianchi. And another. And another. And another. Once a week, for the last three months, a blonde woman has been making the exact same purchase and she always pays cash.”

A well timed beat of silence and then the big finale. “She’s shopping for Hannibal.”

“Brava.” Mason crooned. “Once again you’ve out done yourself Dr. ‘loom.”

Margot waited to hear more news from Florence but Mason’s attention was truly wayward today as he asked excitedly, his mind already spinning with the gruesome possibilities he had in store for Hannibal, “Have you ever seen a pig butchered? I mean properly from whole hog to jowls and hocks.”

“No.” Alana said tiredly and if she intended to say anything else her brother interrupted it.

“It wouldn’t be all that dissimilar to butchering a human you see.” He went into a detailed speech over the gory details of the process, one Margot had heard multiple times. She rolled her eyes and retreated back down the corridor knowing that her brother would be pontificating on the subject for quite some time. She made a quick decision to message Alana for a meeting of their own, sending her a text that told her to meet in the guest room where she had stayed that night of the snowstorm. She knew there would be no reply. Alana had been as tacit as herself over the last few days and there was a brooding dissatisfaction that was implied between them. She was uncertain if Alana would come to see her.

Still Margot felt as though they were already irreversibly entwined, it was too late to extract themselves from one another. Like deadly nightshade and blood red roses growing together, wrapping around one another so you couldn’t tell where one started or stopped, a beautiful tangle of poison and thorns. The problem being either of them were just a liable to get pricked as well, Margot thought as she went upstairs for her indeterminate wait.

-

“You summoned?” Alana said flatly, calling attention to herself loitering in the doorway. Margot sat up from where she was reclined on the bed listening to a vintage record player that she pulled out from the corner of the room. She hadn’t noticed it the last time she was in here but then she had been too distracted by Alana’s presence to notice anything else. She had already listened to a record of Mozart’s sonatas and now a rock album played from David Bowie, his desperate baritone floating over a high synthetic melody.

“I was hoping to see you before you left.” Margot corrected calmly.

“Here I am. Anything else?” Alana asked peevishly.

“How did your appointment with Mason go?” She attempted to soften her approach with some formalities to recreate the pattern they set; first business then pleasure. The doctor wasn’t biting though. She begrudgingly came further into the room with a huff.

“Well enough.” She said still being elusive.

“You have receipts from Italy?” Margot pressed and Alana’s sharp demeanor faltered at her question.

“Yes.” She drew out the word but didn’t request any further information on how she acquired that knowledge.

“They’re promising?”

“More than that. I’m certain.” Alana stated.

“Is there a name on them?”

“They’re signed. It’s difficult to read, not much more than a scribble, but it looks like Signora F. My man is staking out the grocer and we’re running down any possible matches. We’ll hopefully know something soon.” A minor set back but they were close. Margot’s mind went racing to the next step; there was still so much to plan and discuss in their endeavor to also get rid of Mason. Capturing Hannibal had taken precedent and progress had felt so far away that making arrangements for Mason hadn’t been urgent. Time had hurried forward though and she felt caught unaware.

“If this is just means to an end, then I think we should stop seeing each other socially.” Her thoughts ground to a halt at Alana’s words. She didn’t need to ask what she meant by _this_. She thought of her solitude in the past days, and the easily prescribed sedatives and the dulling whiskey and fine, unending trappings of her home and the apathy that was deep in her bones. It had all been a trap to keep her subdued in her gilded cage. And now there could be an end in sight, a time beyond Mason and muted pain. She had taken herself to the edge, and realized she had been afraid to jump off.

 _And you, you will be mean. And I, I drink all the time._ Bowie sang in the space between them. _Cause we’re lovers, and that is a fact. Yes we’re lovers, and that is that._ Margot rose from the bed and slowly made her way to Alana. Standing in front of her, Margot raised her hand to cup Alana’s cheek but the other woman flinched away from the touch and it dropped down uselessly to her side. Alana was nearly glaring at her, jaw clenched defiantly; she wouldn’t be placated until she knew Margot made her intentions clear. The heiress smiled tenderly and explained. “No. This isn’t just means to an end. _This_ is how it _ends_. Regardless of anything else it will end with you and me.”

 _I, I will be king. And you, you will be queen._ The song continued as Alana processed her words. Gradually the corners of her mouth turned up, her hardness melting away. Her smile somehow secretive, she took a step towards Margot but didn’t reach out for her. “A long time ago Will Graham asked me why I don’t date. I told him that I just wasn’t the kind of person who was in relationships... I think too much.”

“Is that you’re way of breaking up with me?” Margot asked partly incredulous and partly joking.

“No.” Alana shook her head. Her hands finally came to rest on Margot’s hips. She could feel Alana’s cane pushing into her gently. “No, I don’t have to think about being with you at all. I just know I am with you.”

She leaned up slightly and kissed the corner of Margot’s mouth and her breath hitched. Unable to resist the relentless pull any longer, Margot threaded her fingers through Alana’s hair, guiding their lips together fully. The hum of pleasure she felt made the rest of the world recede away, the lyrics still swirling around them becoming lost to her. _We could steal time, just for one day. We can be heroes, forever and ever. What do you say?_

Alana held onto her tighter, her cane dropping to the ground with a thud, her lips moving with more purposeful pleasure, her tongue hot and quick. She walked Margot backwards to the bed. The taller women sunk onto the mattress and pulled away; looking up at Alana who stared back hungrily she felt the urge to confess. “I’m sorry. I don’t know if I can do it all the time… But I’m done being afraid.”

The doctor observed her softly; pale finger stroked her worried brow, then said thoughtfully. “I have something for you.”

Her hand dipped into her pocket and she took out something golden. Alana held up the object and Margot saw a necklace with a starfish pendant hung between them. It couldn’t cost more than $50 but suddenly it was the most precious thing she owned. She looked back up to Alana as the woman spoke intently. “For when you forget to not be afraid.”

Alana unclipped the clasp and leaned in to put the jewelry around her neck. Margot leaned in too; pressing her face into Alana’s should to inhale her scent, jasmine and Pond’s Cold Cream. Her heart beat erratically against the starfish. The brunette began to move away but Margot didn’t let her get very far. Their lips crashed back together and hands urgently tugged at clothing as Alana climbed on top of her, hips already grinding into her own with need. The final bits of unrest she’d felt slipped away with the admissions of want and their mounting bliss.

_Though nothing, nothing will keep us together. We can beat them, forever and ever. Oh we can be heroes, just for one day._


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10:  _It was an ambush._

 

It had only been two days before Mason called Alana back to the Verger mansion for her to be apart of an unanticipated but providential video call with a man by the name Rinaldo Pazzi, a detective in Florence. She listened as he told his story of the Primavera murders, couples killed and arranged in the fashion of the classic image, that had plagued the town several years ago and his encounter with a young Lithuanian man who visited the museum every day to sketch the Botticelli painting itself. The man disappeared before Pazzi could corner him and a suitable scapegoat had been produced and the whole horrid saga was tied up in a convenient red bow for the public. He had never forgotten the face of the man who had evaded him though and now he claimed that his ‘Il Monstro’ was back in Florence. Alana knew that it had to be Hannibal, a cold certainty settling in her stomach. The baroque and fanciful murder would align with Hannibal’s murderous aesthetic, this younger, less developed version of himself recreating the work of another artist to practice until he was ready to begin creating his own iconic masterpieces.

While Alana felt sure this was their man, Mason was more skeptical or at least pretended to be as he outlined his requirements for the man to collect the reward. As the Italian agreed Alana felt gripped by doubt, a seizure of panic to put an end to this madness and call the whole thing off. _So you have no illusions about what’s going to happen to Dr. Lecter. You will be selling him into torture and death._ **I’m aware.**

His answer weary but frank. Mason went on unconcerned with her interruption and was even more unconcerned after the call ended and she warned him that Hannibal would kill Inspector Pazzi. Mason gave a twitchy shrug then started to have a severe coughing fit, spluttering and wheezing like he’d been holding it in for a while. Alana realized perhaps what she’d perceived as restraint during the phone call was something else entirely as his breathing became shallow and rattling, his face a grayish pallor by the time Cordell rushed in to take him away. Alone, Alana didn’t consider Mason’s health for long before her thoughts turned back to Pazzi and what lie in store for him. It would be terribly rude of the lawman to break his oath and take money over morals. Morals, Hannibal could have forgiven, perhaps left the man injured and embarrassed, but to betray for the metaphorical 13 pieces of silver earned him a gruesome fate, like the betrayer Judas before him Hannibal would conjure up a special punishment for his crime.

In the midst of her musings, hands suddenly came around her waist from behind and Alana momentarily stiffened then relaxed when a smoky voice said quietly in her ear, “Hi.”

“Hi.” She greeted her just as softly, automatically her body relaxing, inclining back into Margot who stepped more fully behind her. Her thoughts that had been a tense, dreadful buzz, slackened and quieted; whatever worries she had eclipsed by the tender feeling of being near Margot. A smile crept to her face as the Verger nuzzled into her hair asking, “What was the emergency meeting about? I missed it.”

Alana had learned later of Margot’s little trick of using the old servant passages to travel unseen throughout the house and pick up bits of information along the way. So she hadn’t been entirely startled when Margot seemed to appear from nowhere. “A tip came in from the hotline.”

“A real one?” Margot retracted her face from her neck but Alana held her hands over the arms around her waist to keep her close. There had been plenty of calls coming in through the hotline with the bounty Mason placed on Hannibal’s head, one million dollars dead and three million for the doctor alive. In part Alana understood his hesitation. In the early days of his search, people had conned money from Mason with photo-shopped images of Hannibal in exotic locations and items pilfered from Dr. Lecter’s home with his prints. Mason over eager with his blood thirst allowed himself to be fooled by the fabricated proof, and the conman would get some money and disappear, either of their own volition or Mason’s hand she couldn’t be sure, which was how Mason came to require evidence to an extreme.

“Yes, rather unexpectedly. An inspector no less.” She filled in.

“That is quite the development.” Margot resumed her affections to Alana’s neck and started leaving a trail of kisses up to her ear. “You think it’s him?”

“I do. He’s in Florence under the name Dr. Roman Fell, presumably with Signora Fell from the grocery shop. Dr. Fell recently accepted a position as curator for the Palazzo Capponi Library and Archives after his predecessor mysteriously vanished. Seems like Hannibal carved out a place for himself.”

“I thought he’d be living quietly on a hill in the middle of nowhere.” Margot stopped her kissing again, sounding surprised.

“No, he’s had a lot of practice hiding in plain sight. And Hannibal requires an audience.”

“Even if it means potentially exposing himself?”

“That’s half of the game for Hannibal, proving himself smarter, more superior than everyone else.”

“When will we move on Hannibal then?” She could hear the anticipation in Margot’s voice, the want to push forward when it would be her time to get revenge.

Alana sighed. “Your brother wants more proof. He wants a fresh fingerprint to verify that it is indeed him… I think he just doesn’t want to pay the reward.”

“How’s that?”

“Hannibal will kill him. If Inspector Pazzi has already approached him then he’s already been exposed. We’re sending him to his death.”

“Mason is sending him.” Margot offered consolingly.

But Alana asserted, keeping her tone unfettered. “No. We. I think we are passed the point of mincing culpability.”

“Hm… and how does that make you feel?” She asked the question teasingly, putting on a faux-Freudian accent, but Alana took a moment to consider it seriously. She picked her thoughts back up from the moment before Margot found her, reexamining the vestige of fear from before. It was as if Alana had walked into the ocean and simply not stopped. Now she looked around she found that the land had vanished from sight and choppy, navy waters threatened to consume her with no way of knowing which direction safety lay. The terror had flailed in her for one moment, like final spasm of a drowning person before they succumbed to the depths, but Alana wasn’t drowned yet. To thrash, to lose her composure now would be a waste of time. The only thing to be done was to pick a direction and just keep moving forward.

Alana turned in Margot’s arms, slipping her own around the taller woman’s back. She cocked her head to the side and smirked. “Impatient with his little time-wasting power play… and hungry. Come by for dinner?”

“I can’t.” Margot now sighed, squeezing her a little tighter in apology. “Mason requires my presence for dinner tonight. I’m sure it all has to do with this business. But I can come by later?”

“Alright.” Alana agreed, ignoring the pang of rejection that struck her unwillingly. She found Margot’s gaze though and it was unwavering, not darting away in the skittish aversion like when she was trying to leave her before, just softly regretful that she had to say no to her. The pang faded entirely.

“Why not have dessert now?” Margot purred suggestively, eyes sparking with desire.

Alana felt her own desire settle warmly, enticingly at her center but she tugged herself away, pushing Margot’s hands off of her but with an amused grin, “No, you’ll ruin your appetite.”

“I think it will _whet_ my appetite.” Margot protested half-heartedly, not pursing the doctor as she backed away though.

Alana licked her bottom lip, taking a final moment to take pleasure in the sight of Margot wanting her, but then turned and walked toward the door. Without glancing behind she definitively said. “I’ll see you later.”

-

Alana drove down her street and stopped suddenly at the end of her driveway, trepidation clenched in her stomach. A large black pick-up truck was parked there with a decal of a seated woman’s overly voluptuous silhouette on the tailgate she recognized as her brother Dylan’s. His unannounced presence was out of character for her younger brother. Out of all her family, while he lived closest to her, Dylan was the most inclined to leave her alone, the most unsure around Alana since her paradigm shift. He was accustomed to his sister taking the initiative to keep in touch, reminding him to call their mom, having him over for dinner for a home cooked meal because he would never eat properly otherwise and generally fussing over him the way older sister do. He didn’t understand how this Alana was his sister, who rarely spoke and barely offered him a glass of whiskey the last and only time he’d visited her since the Hannibal fallout. For Dylan to be waiting at her door now violated their unspoken agreement of the wide boundary set between them these days.

She whipped around the obstructing vehicle to park in her garage. Something about this set Alana on edge, like she was about to be ambushed. Stepping down from her car, Dylan had emerged from his truck, his tall frame shuffling a couple awkward steps toward her and giving her a nervous smile, “Hey sis.”

“Dylan.” She said his name curiously.

“We thought we come by to visit.” He explained.

“We?”

Then the other side of the truck open and her parents, Bill and Cathy Bloom, came bumbling out all cheery greeting and big grins; it was an ambush. They spoke over each other, rushing to jostle her into a hug and rushing to justify themselves. “We were just passing through-“

“-And thought it would be a shame not to see you-“

“-We haven’t heard from you kiddo and-“

“-I tried calling but you didn’t pick up-“

“-We _miss_ you-“

“-We _worry_ about you-“

Alana resisted the urge to rub her suddenly tender temples; she regretted not staying on the estate and enjoying Margot for a little bit longer. When their rambling finally ceased Alana took a deep, resigned breath and spoke as politely as she could, “Mom, Dad, good to see you. Let’s go inside. I can make us some tea.”

“Oh wonderful.” Her mother clasped her hands together in delight. Alana led the group into her house, excusing herself to the kitchen while her family went to noisily encamp themselves in the living room, Applesauce following them with an investigative manner. Alana slowly began to make the tea, filling the silver kettle at the tap, the burner click-click-clicking, and the whoosh of the blue flame catching on. She was arranging teacups on a tray when Applesauce joined her, lying right at Alana’s heels apparently deeming the new company unacceptable. She leaned down and scratched behind the dog’s ears, muttering. “I’m not happy either.”

It was like strangers were in her home. Strangers who knew everything about her past, even the moments she couldn’t remember, and they assumed that they knew her. They inserted their presence into her life like they had a right to be there; Alana felt her indignation rising along with an oddly violated sensation. When she had set about to rearrange herself, she discarded much of her past, the relationships forged there, and morals she’d learned, as they had no place in her life anymore. Unfortunately the past had yet to accept that.

“Need any help?” Dylan popped in just as the kettle began to whistle. Alana shook her head and poured the steaming water into the porcelain teapot already loading with bags of Earl Gray. She put honey and cream on the serving tray and hooked her cane around one of the handles to walk it out to the living room. Her brother tried to object to her carrying it but Alana ignored him, leaving him behind to follow helplessly.

The tea steeped. The clock on the mantle ticked sluggishly. The tea was poured. Another infinite second before the clock jerked forward in time. Alana sat primly in an armchair with her dog resettled at her feet. Her mother blathered on about the weather and asked if she’d bought a new rug and said whatever other meaningless comment came to mind. Alana hardly listened, instead detachedly studying her parents and the attributes she’d inherited from them. She had her father’s elfin appearance, delicate and mischievous, but without expression could look cold and judgmental. She heard whispers when in school what other girls thought of her. Words like frigid, stuck-up, and bitch were used. So she trained herself to always have a little half-smile, be pleasant and helpful to avoid the label. She didn’t care what people said now though. From her mother she received her coloring; pale skin, silky dark hair, and blue eyes. Though her mother’s eyes were a soft, watery blue while Alana’s were cut sapphire, all bright glares and hard edges. Her mother addressed her then and she refocused. “That is a lovely suit Alana.”

Though she gave the comment shakily, and then asked hopefully. “Were you coming from church?”

“No. I was with a patient.”

“On a Sunday?” Her father questioned.

“He requires a lot of time. The man is very troubled.” She idly stirred her tea, watching the amber liquid swirl around in a little whirlpool with more interest than what was going on around her.

“Alana…” Her mother’s voice hedged and she dreaded what may follow but then miraculously the doorbell rang. Applesauce shot up and barked warningly as she headed to the door.

Her father looked around as if startled. “Are you expecting company?”

Alana didn’t respond, just taking up her cane and rising to answer it, glad for the interruption.

“Margot.” She said with an astonished smile. The woman stood on the other side in a black dress coat with glossy dark fur around the collar, auburn curls tumbled about her shoulders, a gold barrette clipped on one side in a 1930’s fashion, her lips painted with a delectable, dark plum. Alana realized she was staring but couldn’t help herself; she was captivated by Margot’s appearance. There was a stark contrast between the elegant Verger and that of her banal family waiting in the other room. Margot seemed nearly too refined, too sharp to be real standing on the doorstep in this quaint little suburb. She was Technicolor surrounded by black and white.

“Whose god-awful truck is in your drive?” Margot interrupted her thoughts. The heiress kissed Alana’s cheek as she came inside. Setting a paper grocery bag on the hall table, Applesauce, who had been happily inspecting Margot, shifted her attention to the bag sniffing keenly and tail wagging rapidly. Margot pealed off her leather gloves to pat the dog’s head.

“You’re early.”

“Yes, Cordell had to take Mason to the hospital. He’ll probably be admitted for a few days. He thinks it is pneumonia. It won’t kill him unfortunately.” Margot was explaining while she hung her coat in the closet. She ran her fingers through her hair to tousle her curls as she came back into view. “I know we still may need him but a girl can’t help but wish.”

“Certainly.” Alana gave her a bemused smile.

“Alana.”

“Yes?” The brunette asked distractedly, mostly thinking of how she liked how the deep V of Margot’s black silk blouse nearly met where the high waist of her pinstriped pencil skirt synched in.

“The truck?”

“Oh that.” Alana huffed annoyed.

Dylan chose that moment to amble into the foyer, asking tactlessly. “Who’s this?”

Margot stiffened defensively but then seemed to recognize something in her brother and relaxed. Still she imperiously inquired, “Who are you?”

“This is my brother Dylan. He and my parents have stopped by. Unexpectedly.” When no one said anything for a moment, Alana continued, “Come on, we’re having tea in the living room.”

Introductions were made; more tea was poured. Her parents and brother took refuge on the couch, practically huddled together and watching Margot wearily. They sensed something was different about the other woman as well, as if she were a supernatural creature, dangerously beautiful and emanating a careless power. Where this attracted Alana, her family was apprehensive. Alana and Margot seated themselves in the twin armchairs, looking at the other occupants with an unnerving stillness like a pair of sphinxes.

Her mom cleared her throat, “So how do you know Alana?”

Margot glanced at Alana for direction but the doctor just gestured for her to answer freely. Still she said rather diplomatically, “Dr. Bloom is my brother’s psychiatrist.”

“And we are seeing each other.” Alana added abruptly.

Dylan froze, her father’s eyes widened, and her mother choked of a mouthful of tea, “And by seeing each other you mean…”

“Romantically.” Alana succinctly supplied. The phrased scarcely defined the relationship that was developing between the two women. They were a Victorian couple courting with coded gifts and taking strolls around a graveyard; they were serious-eyed school girls cutting their palms behind a garden wall to swear an oath of blood sisters; they wrote a book of surreal and desperate love poems; they were plotting murder for one another. They weren’t just seeing each other; they _saw_ each other. They saw into the shadows and reached out to touch the blackest parts of each other.

Her father began to speak haltingly, “But you’re not-“

Alana glared daggers, daring him to finish the sentence. His mouth clicked shut. Still reeling her parents tried to regain their composure. Her mother began again slowly. “Actually sweetie, this is why we came. Well, not this very reason, but we feel you haven’t been yourself since the accident.”

“I was pushed out of a window. There was nothing accidental about it.” Alana said coolly.

Her mother withered at her words and her father interjected sternly, “You know what your mom meant. You’ve been distant, at times mean, and now this…”

He waved his hand in Margot’s direction with barely restrained disgust but he stopped himself from being overtly rude. “Perhaps you should ask your friend to leave and we can continue this conversation alone.”

Margot hadn’t react to her announcement of their relationship; rather she’d been sipping her tea unperturbed by the ongoing around her. But now she spoke up sharply, green eyes gleamed dangerously, “I think you should leave.”

“We need to have a discussion as a family and we don’t need your-your influence.” Her dad blustered.

"I believe that is for Alana to decide."

Eyes turned to Alana for her answer. She stared down her family as she spoke deliberately. “There will be no discussion. You’ve intruded on our evening. It's time for you to leave.”

Alana’s patience for this half-baked intervention had worn out but her father continued to protest. “You can’t-“

“Leave. Now.” Her tone was hard and absolute. The three gaped at her for a moment, stunned by how quickly the situation unraveled. Finally though they stood and in a daze began wandering to the front door. Alana followed and watched as they silently shoved themselves back into puffy coats and gracelessly hunched over to pull on their shoes. Her father turned before heading out the door, a fire and brimstone religion rearing its ugly head, “There is no room for this kind of life style in our family.”

“Fine by me.” Alana said flatly, not feeling even a stirring of emotion at her father’s statement. He snorted derisively and spun on his heel to leave. Dylan simply shook his head in disbelief at his sister and followed their dad out. Her mother gave her one last imploringly look.

“Alana please…”

“You think I’m not myself. I’m just not who you remember anymore but trust me. I feel very much like myself.” She declared. Tears welled in her mother’s eyes, Alana’s challengingly sparkled like jewels. Her mother left then without another word and it felt like an end. She felt calm.

Applesauce had followed her back out and was adamantly sniffing the bag Margot had left in the hall again. She picked it up, the dog pursuing, and went back into the living room, “What is in here?”

“Wine and cheese for us. A bone from the butcher for Applesauce.” Margot replied though she was no longer seated on the armchair. Instead Alana found her sifting through her liquor cabinet to pull out a bottle of whiskey. The brunette dug into the bag to take out the bone, unwrapping it from the butcher’s paper for the dog while Margot poured whiskey into their half-finished teacups. Applesauce trotted off with her prize, probably taking it to her dog bed in the bedroom to chew in peace.

“So how did I do meeting the parents?” Margot asked handing her a cup as they claimed the couch, the space between them rapidly diminishing.

Alana laughed sardonically, “Mom loved you. Dad is a hard nut to crack but I think he’ll come around.”

Margot grinned but asked, “Really though, you’re okay?”

Alana pressed her lips reverently against Margot’s, taking her time to relish in the soft warmth of her. The calm came over her again. She smiled when they parted, noses brushing against each other with intimate closeness. “I am now.”

She shifted to nestle into Margot’s side so the other woman leaned against the arm of the couch as their bodies relaxed together, melding into one another. Alana still holding her cup drank the honey, black tea, and 12-year old whiskey. It tasted slow and divine on her tongue. She turned to rest chin on Margot’s shoulder and the other woman tilted her head to rest against Alana’s forehead. The clock on the mantle ticked by as lethargically as before but now gathered against Margot she was grateful for the minute passage of time.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11:  _Just thinking of past lives..._

 

Alana sat up swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Transfixed, Margot watched her lightly stretch, the muscles in her back shifting and waking under her pale skin. She vaguely remembered the names of them from taking a life drawing class in college; the latissimus dorsi wrapped around her side, the trapeizus made a breathtaking V from her shoulders to mid-spine. There were many wonderful attributes of Dr. Bloom but Margot had a particular affinity for her back, delicate yet strong, perfect yet imperfect. Alana was adorned with her fair share of scars there but hers were elegant in a way that Margot’s were not. There were two on either side of her spine, like the swooping cutouts on the face of a cello, and one down the center of her spine, neatly placed by surgeons with masterful precision. Even the lighter scars on her upper back were oddly pleasing, as if the lacerations had been placed like constellation in the sky where you could find a mythic being waiting to be discovered and named. Not that they were randomly formed from falling through plate glass. Where as the scars on Margot’s back were erratic, crude and without design, just the slap-dash carvings of a madman etched onto her skin.

Neither of them was sentimental about the marks on their bodies thankfully. When Margot had shown her back to Will Graham, he’d reacted the way she imagined and needed him to, mostly with pity, but also shock and a touch of revulsion. _Who did this to you?_ Will had asked in a soft, grieved voice. She could feel his hands ghosting over her back as if that could erase the damage. She became one of his abused strays that needed to be tended and he served his purpose for her. Others before him, the women she picked up then immediately dropped off, had reacted similarly to the scars. Tears welled in their eyes and trembling fingers tried to trace the jagged lines to which an annoyed Margot shove aside the unsolicited sympathy and demand they resume their carnal activities with a new roughness.

Alana offered no such egregious display of emotion upon seeing Margot completely for the first time. She kissed and stroked and clawed at her back without discrimination, not skittishly avoiding the scars or lavishing them with extra, unnecessary care. And Margot afforded her the same courtesy. When their eyes met, there was never pity in Alana’s. In the midst of their passion, she could only describe her eyes as blazing, blue flames burning and consuming and wanting. Margot felt the stirrings of arousal at her thoughts but Alana was standing and heading toward the bathroom, her limp more pronounced in the morning. Margot watched her nude figure slip into the bathroom and water in the shower started running.

This was the third morning she’d woken up in Alana’s house and she wondered why she’d ever resisted this; the gratification of waking up curled around one another; of pressing a kiss to her lips over breakfast, of Alana sitting, nearly glowing angelically, in the sunny patch of the couch to read her book. There was pleasure in observing the doctor, learning more than than the physical pleasure they elicited from one another, but the mundane things too; like how first thing in the morning she took showers hotter than most could withstand to relieve the ache in her hips that could grow in the night; how she listened to French music when she cooked breakfast; how rosy her cheeks were after coming in from walking the dog. Every moment was as intriguing as the last.

Applesauce hopped up on the bed then sniffing over the covers until she came to lie against Margot resting her muzzle on her chest. The heiress was a little mystified by the affection but scratched behind her ears and down to the wooly scruff of her neck. The dog’s eyes slipped shut contentedly when she hit a certain spot.

“One bone and she’s bought and sold.” Alana said sounding amused, as she emerged from the bathroom in a dark blue silk robe.

“We could never have dogs or cats. Or if we did they never lasted long with Mason around.” She continued to pet the dog. “That’s why I took up with the horses, he couldn’t mess with them without getting kicked.”

“He won’t be around for much longer.” Alana gingerly lowered herself to sit on the edge of the bed. Margot nodded, suddenly struck with the thought that, despite everything, Mason was the last of her family. Someday, assuming she would survive her brother, Margot would be the only Verger then the line would abruptly end with her. In some ways it was a relief for it all to be over, Verger’s had wreaked enough havoc over the years. But then there was a part of her that remembered the spark of hope a baby ignited and the idyllic dreams of creating security and a better future for themselves. The only way that could happen now would be if Mason were to have children, and she couldn’t simply ask him for a sperm donation. It was impossible and preposterous to even consider it. Still the thread of the idea weaved into her mind and she could not help but pick at it from time to time. She wondered what Alana would think if she broached the topic of a Verger baby.

Applesauce scooted away from her now to plop her head in Alana’s lap. The brunette smiled at the dog as she scratched under her chin in way that made her back leg kick. In moments like this that were a little too sweet, Margot could imagine how Alana had been. The woman who picked the funny, speckled dog with quirky name to be her pet, and wore the faded Harvard sweatshirts that were now relegated to the back of her closet, and drank beers in a sports bar, and was the doting daughter and sister. Would that Alana Bloom have wanted to get into bed with her literally and metaphorically?

A picture of the Bloom family sitting across from her on the couch came to mind, the peculiar, watered-down versions of Alana blinking at them with hurt and confusion. She felt a stab of pity for them and found herself asking, “Have you heard from your parents?”

The other woman seemed perplexed at the question. Answering slowly, she replied, “I haven’t. But I’m sure I will.”

“Do you think you’ll reconcile?”

“That’s up to them mostly. I’m not going to live by their standards anymore. So they can adjust their expectations or we can be done.”

“Do you _want_ to reconcile?”

She shrugged. “On my own terms but I suppose. Ultimately, they’re my family for better or for worse… Why do you ask?”

“Just thinking of past lives. I wonder if the Alana they knew would be with me.”

Anyone else would rush to adamantly declare that their affections would have been the same then and would be for always. But Alana looked away, contemplating the proposed thought as she reached a little to rub Applesauce’s stomach, the dog panting happily. Finally she answered truthfully, “I suspect not, but that doesn’t matter much now. This is who we are. This is where I want to be… Do you think you’d have wanted me before all this?”

The doctor tilted her head to the side, presenting the question back to her and Margot smirked, “I suspect not. Or maybe it would just be different.”

“How so?” Alana grinned back and Margot continued thoughtfully as she created a narrative for their alternative lives.

“You would have saved me, or whatever, and we wouldn’t be planning on committing several felonies.”

“Sounds tedious.” She interjected.

“We’d live in the suburbs, and go to potlucks where we’d always bring potato salad.”

“Have you even been in the same room as potato salad?”

“That is hardly the point.” Margot retorted to her sarcastic comment and went on. “We would have very quiet sex at 9pm every Tuesday.”

“You? Quiet?” Alana scoffed. “Not very likely.”

She ignored her sass now and added, “We’d wear pastels-“

Alana who had been laughing, now gave her a mock reproachful look, “I’d never wear pastels.”

Margot chuckled. “Good thing we aren’t those people then.”

“Yes it’s a very good thing.” She agreed. Her voice dropped slightly with seduction, her pupils dilating to pools of black surrounded by the blue fire. Margot felt the low thrumming of her arousal returning as Alana nudged Applesauce so she leapt off the bed, giving Alana the space to lean over Margot. Suddenly though face twisted into a grimace and she hissed, jerking herself back into an upright position to alleviate the ripple of pain that must have shot through her. The Verger sat up from the nest of pillows, “You’re more sore than usual this morning.”

She stated needlessly but the brunette nodded solemnly. “Yes, a bit.”

“Lie back down.” Margot instructed and she helped her get back into bed. Once Alana settled, the she started at her feet, massaging and rotating her ankles to stretch her muscles. The auburn-haired woman meticulously worked her way up, firmly kneading her calves. Then Alana gasped when she touched an area behind her knee so Margot caressed it again and again. She watched a delightfully blush spread over Alana’s chest where her robe had fallen open slightly while she rubbed circles first up the outside of her thighs, then slipping her hand to the inside of her thighs. “Better?”

Her voice sounded raspier as she tried to restrain herself from pushing over a boundary Alana may not be able to cross at present. But the other woman fidgeted under her fingers, “Feels wonderful but I could feel even better if you’d go higher.”

“Here?” Margot asked mischievously, her hand stopped just shy of Alana’s center but she could feel the promising, alluring heat from there.

Her legs shifted open more and the doctor moaned, “Please don’t tease. I need your fingers inside of me. I’ve been wet all morning for you.”

Margot couldn’t deny her as she slid her fingers the rest of the way up, skating through her slick folds and then inside her, making Alana groan with relief. She took her time finding the spot on her inner wall that would drive her over the edge though. Instead she pushed open the satiny robe fully and kissed her way slowly up Alana’s body, trying to remember more anatomical names. On her hip, the iliac crest where coincidentally a surgical scar traveled, and just below her breast the where the serratus anterior muscles interdigitated with the external oblique muscles. She licked her way across her defined clavicles and nipped at the long thin muscle in her neck the connected all the way down to her sternum but the name eluded her now. Finally she was kissing Alana deeply, curving her tongue in her mouth the way she curved her fingers, and the brunette shook as she came.

Alana was slack and dazed underneath her, her body protested to be moved but she had no problem tugging on Margot until the heiress straddled her face, her tongue making quick work to reciprocate the pleasure.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12:  _Better buy the whole department._

 

Alana glanced out the gauzy curtains of her living window as if someone could be watching her. It had taken her personal investigator a few days to acquire the phone number for the Rinaldo Pazzi, longer than if she’d just used the Verger connections but she couldn’t let Mason know what she was doing. Even she didn’t quite know what she was doing by calling him, maybe offering him a final warning, perhaps leaving him with some advice on how to deal with Hannibal. She dialed his number into the burner phone she’d bought and the line rang ominously.

“Pronto.” A low voice answered the phone.

The doctor felt a flutter of relief when the man answered his phone. She spoke urgently. “Inspector Pazzi, my name is Alana Bloom. You don’t know me, but I know your benefactor-“

“Hello, Alana.” She froze, ice shooting through her veins at hearing Hannibal Lecter on the other side. The some 4,000 miles that separated them suddenly felt as though they diminished to mere inches, like he were hotly breathing down her neck. “I’m afraid the inspector is otherwise occupied.”

“Is he dead?” The question was inane and she could barely keep her voice from quivering. Her mind wildly grasped at thoughts of trying to keep him on the line, of doing anything to keep him right where he was until he could be captured. She couldn’t hold onto anything though, instead she filled with a blank terror.

Dr. Lecter answered calmly. “There is nothing I would love more than to be able to chat with you, but you caught me at a rather awkward moment. Nice to hear your voice, Alana.”

The line went dead and time flung forward. She cursed, “Shit.”

Dropping the cell phone to the floor, Alana used her cane to crush the electronics, angrily jabbing at it a few times. She leaned against the windowsill to compose herself, taking a few deep breaths through her nose and out her mouth. Quickly she gathered up the shattered pieces of the cell phone to dispose of and pushed herself forward. She would need to be ready to be summoned by Mr. Verger.

-

“What’s going on?” Alana asked her voice low and tight. Instead of the standard issue maid or butler escorting her through the Verger mansion it had been an armed guard in dark fatigues and a large Glock holstered to his hips. She’d seen the guards around the property but they had been in the periphery, a couples guys patrolling at the perimeter of the lawn or a man standing like a stone at the end of a dimly lit hallway. Now the guards, all various shades of square jaws and buzzed haircuts, had been brought to the forefront; they stood at the main entrance with even larger guns and marched passed her in the halls as if they were in a barracks.

In the room she’d been deposited in, Margot was alone, already seated and looking bored with glassy eyes, most likely from taking Valium if Alana had to guess. Undoubtedly it was due to Mason’s return to the family home that had her in her sedated state. She felt a touch irritated that Margot decided to get high in this critical moment but also envied the other woman’s prescription-bought calmness and wondered if she would share later. It took the heiress an extra beat to answer her, “You’re prediction has come to fruition.”

“I know.” Alana half-whispered. The memory of hearing Hannibal’s voice over the phone sunk her gut once again as if his voice were in her in her ear now; smooth like a polished stone and deep with an evil mirth. She wished now that she’d not tried to warn the detective. She felt cursed or haunted somehow. Though Hannibal had not said much but it was enough to bring the fear back to the surface, reminding her she was animal clawing for her survival. _Nice to hear your voice, Alana._

Margot may not have heard her as she said, “Inspector Pazzi is dead.”

“I know.” Alana said again louder. She choked on the words to tell Margot of the phone call but there wouldn’t be time before Mason would join them. Instead she inquired, “Do you know how?”

“Hanged from the Capponi Library. Disemboweled. I hear he scarred some Japanese tourists.” Margot answered concisely.

“Christ.” She nearly rolled her eyes with his dramatics. “What about Hannibal? Is he in the wind?”

“We don’t know at this point.”

“If he escapes the city before we get him- it’s harder to catch the same fish twice. God knows how long it will take to corner him again. It may be impossible.” Frustration bubbled up inside Alana and with it the fear. Everything that appeared to have been in hand was scattered and uncertain. She didn’t have time to voice her concern though before Mason entered the room, his electric wheelchair seeming to whirl furiously, with Mr. Doemling dutifully behind him. The men were quiet, Mason stewing and Cordell oddly nervous. Instead of speaking, the crippled man clicked on a flat screen television and a loud news report in Italian sounded through the speakers. Alana subtly shifted so she stood in the back of the room and watched. She couldn’t understand what the woman was saying but an image displayed in the corner of the screen of a figure hanging from a window of a building with Florentine architecture got the point across. It was certainly the combination of grotesque and beautiful that Hannibal painted with. Mason let the television play until the image cut out and they showed a cleaner image of yellow tape and police shuffling about the scene. He turned it off and let the tense silence fester for a moment then said, “I feel like I just paid a lot of money for a dead dago.”

“The feces will fly about Pazzi.” Margot stated. Unlike Alana, she could understand the newscast and probably better understood what was going down in Florence than anyone else in the room. While Mason honed his cruelty under his father’s tutelage and little else, Margot had taken advantage of the education provided to the elite and international boarding schools she’d been shipped off to.

“Better get it out that Pazzi was dirty. They’ll take it better if he was dirty.” Mason plotted; the man was well versed in scandal and he knew the first thing to do was muddy the water. As an after thought he asked curiously, “Was he dirty?”

“Except for this, I don’t know.” Margot shrugged.

Alana gripped her cane tighter and stepped forward. “What if they trace Pazzi back to you?”

“I can take care of that.” Mason said dismissively.

“Like you took care of Pazzi.” Alana threw back at him. An ‘I-told-you-so’ barely restrained on her lips.

He spun his chair to face her and glared. “I have little interest in the expensive piece of meat twitching on the end of that electrical cord, Dr. ‘loom.”

“You might want to get interested. Hannibal could disappear too well and you’d be left with nothing. Except for a lot of questions from the authorities. ” She said sharply. They would be left with nothing. She would be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life. Margot would be trapped and prodded in her gilded cage. There would be no escape for either of them.

“Better buy another cop.” Margot interjected between them effectively cutting off a potential fight.

“Better buy the whole department.” Alana added wryly. She let the swell of emotions recede inside her, and she resettled in the back of the room with a cool, naturally imperious expression on her face. Her eyes flitted over Margot and she squeezed the handle of her cane tightly once again as if to anchor her self in place, to keep her self from drifting toward Margot. The days leading up to this moment had been blissfully different. It was as if they’d made up a new reality of only the two of them, where catching her eye drew out a bemused smile, where being in the same room meant they’d be pulled together like it were one of the laws of gravity, where Margot’s eyes were clear and gleaming. The two women in this room were unrecognizable from themselves in the days prior, all distance and indifference. The remnants of Margot in her home, a half-smoked pack of Gauloises on her kitchen counter, her perfume on the sheets, an envelop she scrawled on for a takeout order, seemed more real than the woman who sat in front of her now.

A random moment surfaced in her mind of the first morning after Margot had stayed. She’d woken up alone but saw Margot’s clothes still strewn about the bedroom. And as Alana descended the stairs she could hear someone rattling around in the kitchen where she found Margot attempting to assemble a sparse breakfast. She unceremoniously slid a plate of toast and a cup of coffee across the counter to Alana. The bread on it was dark and blackened on the edges from being in the toaster too long. Ignoring the meal, Alana took a sip from the mug and had to force herself to swallow. She’d managed to burn the coffee too. The brunette had set the cup down lightly as she tried to contain her smile and said she might have orange juice. Margot ended up tossing everything, hoisting Alana onto the counter, and having her for breakfast instead. Thinking of the morning relaxed her, until Mason started talking again.

“Goodie more dagos.” He sighed listlessly. “In the meantime, I think it would be prudent for you to stay here for the time being Dr. ‘loom. You never know when the action could start.”

Alana faltered slightly, subconsciously her eyes fell to Margot once again who remained unmoved by his announcement, rather continuing to trace the wood grain of the chair’s arm with her fingernail as if nothing about this conversation concerned her. Mr. Verger sounded overly courteous when he spoke but Alana could tell this was not an invitation rather a command. Staying on the estate would have its benefits she considering, thinking of the miniature army that was closing ranks around them. On the other hand, if Hannibal were to move he could come straight here. Mason’s sloppy attempt to capture him had been boorishly offensive and may require a corrective response from the doctor. Alana knew better than to stand next to the man who would be shot at, especially with her name next on the list. Ultimately she had little choice on the matter. She squared her shoulders to him.

“I need to take care of some things at home.” She wanted a bag of her things and would need to call in a favor to someone to watch her dog though the number of people to call was growing smaller. “I’ll be back later this afternoon.”

“I can send someone around to collect you.” Mason offered with sinister hospitality.

“I can make it back fine on my own.” She said stonily.

“Very well, we’ll be waiting… Margot, you know what to do.” He ordered abruptly. His sister gave him a mock salute and he made a small noise of discontent before jolting his chair forward with the control stick, “Come Cordell, I desperately need a martini.”

With the men departed, Margot slumped in her seat rubbing her forehead tiredly, “What a god damn mess.”

“I spoke with Hannibal.” Alana quietly dropped the words into the room.

Margot’s spine straightened and she whipped her head around to look at Alana, asking with confusion, “How?”

“I called Inspector Pazzi and Hannibal answered.” She suppressed a shudder.

Margot stood and walked over to her, “What did he say?”

“Nothing.” Alana looked down but Margot slipped her fingers under her chin and gently forced her to meet her eyes. She exhaled. “He wasn’t on the line long. All he was that he was busy but wished we could catch up. I think it was right as he was about to kill Pazzi.”

“Jesus.” Margot shook her head. “How did he sound?”

“Calm. Very calm.” Like she’d only interrupted a quiet evening of reading a novel rather than an evening of publicly hanging a man.

“Mason may be careless but I’m not. I can have a helicopter hear in 7 minutes and we'll be gone.” Margot said softly as she cupped Alana’s cheek. She toyed with the sash that tied Margot’s dress together at her waist. The doctor didn’t respond; she simply pressed into Margot’s hand, focusing on the gentleness and stability of it. It was almost enough to drown out the thought that circled her mind. Hannibal Lecter didn’t need seven minutes, only needed one to wreak his special brand of havoc.

Margot broke the silence. “Let me know when you get back. We’ll have a sleepover.”

“You’re not worried about Mason?” Alana asked a little surprised.

“He and Cordell have been enthralling each other with _recipes_ for their _menu_. I don’t think he’ll notice…” Margot kissed her cheek. “Besides, the arrival of a cannibalistic serial killer is imminent. I’ll take my chances with the sadistic paraplegic.”


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13:  _There has to be a child._

 

Mason had been propped up in bed by the time Margot finished making phone calls. She smirked with a small pang of satisfaction. That’s what Mason’s life could be summed up to, being propped up in various places in his tailored suits or his red smoking jacket as he futilely clung to the appearance of power and decadence. A comically long straw hovering near his nonexistent lips came up from a martini glass on the hospital-issue tray table and undercut his image however. From the way her brother’s eyelids drooped currently it was apparent he’d already had a couple of the cocktails already. She put on a sarcastically cheery voice, “I’ve made new friends in Italy. They’re cleaning up and starting over, so all you need to concern yourself with now is what will happen once Dr. Lecter is in your hands.”

“You’ve worked so hard to give me what I want.” Mason croaked out with the pretense of gratitude. “It’s only fair to talk about what Margot wants. Come sit on Santa’s lap, huh?”

His head lolled to the side in what Margot supposed was a coy manner. She didn’t move of a half second as she fought her instincts that kept her away from her brother, especially if he were being cordial, bordering on sweet. Any pleasantness from Mason was inevitably a harbinger for a cruel, vile act that he had planned. She stepped forward slowly but not hesitantly, acting annoyed rather than afraid, and perched on the edge of his bed. Folding her hands over her lap, she met his eyes with a cool impatience, “And what is it you think I want?”

“You know… the biggest regret of my life is taking away your ability to create it.” His words cut her to the quick. He may as well have slashed a knife across her stomach as it felt same way she remembered Mason’s knife used to easily slide into her skin, finding the most tender places and drawing out blood. His objective wasn’t to cause fatality rather to cause pure pain. Margot felt the pain then quickly tucked it away, long ago learning to keep her reactions to Mason’s antagonism to a minimum.

“Adoption is a nice thing to do.” She suggested half-heartedly.

“No pedigree in buying a Chinese baby. They’re cheaper than shoats.” Mason said crassly. “I wish I could give you a Verger baby, our own baby. Yours and mine. We could raise it together.”

Mason’s declaration made her stomach roll with nausea. Her brother couldn’t be trusted around children at the best of times and it had been fortunate that he’d never expressed interest in having his own. Children were too messy and loud for his fastidious nature and mercurial temper; he’d never had the patience. And having a child would mean making sacrifices and showing some selflessness on Mason’s part, which she knew him to be incapable of. For Mason to want a child now felt dangerous. It could only be another ploy to manipulate and hurt Margot; since he could no longer inflict physical pain he was left with her psychological torture. The urge to smother her brother with a pillow and end it all right now flashed through her veins, making her blood hot and muscles rigid as she forced her body to remain still. He would be helpless to stop her murderous intent this time and Margot was direly tempted to follow through.

Now wasn’t the time however. They still required Mason to act as bait for Dr. Lecter and to behave so rashly now would ruin everything they’d been working towards; though the plan was admittedly foggy at the moment with the most recent developments. There had been a time when Margot would have gladly taken her chances with first-degree murder charges and life in prison if it meant her brother was dead. But her world had been reframed with the unexpected presence of Alana. Being with the other woman was her motivation and that took precedent over the vendetta she had against Mason. She needed to exercise her patience then Alana would be safe and she could be free and they could have it all. Just a little while longer she told herself as she steeled her resolve and let go of the malevolent impulse.

“The last time there was a Verger baby you removed my uterus.” She reminded him casually, as if he could have forgotten. She fought to stay out of the sickening memory of waking up dazed in the operating room with her brother gleefully explaining what was going to happen to her.

“In my defense, you weaponized your uterus. You shouldn’t have been waving it around like a loaded pistol.” He dramatized, situating himself as the victim.

“I brought it on myself.” She acknowledged hollowly.

Mason patronized her. “As you so often do, Margot.”

She’d heard this rational from Mason before and it was best to simply agree. _I wouldn’t hit you if you just listened Margot. I wouldn’t have killed your kitten if you just let me play with it Margot. I wouldn’t cut you if you’d just learn your lesson and stop all that carpet munching Margot._

“But there’s a possibility that I’m still packing loads of viable sperm. Stumble across any viable uteruses lately, hm?” He continued. Reading his mangled features was difficult but Margot recognized the sinister gleam in his eyes.

The hair on her back stood up. “What are you up to Mason?”

Mason insisted with a strange softness. “I want us to have a baby Margot. I could be really good to a child. I could take parenting classes. Let’s find a way Margot. Let’s find a way to be a family again.”

Already her mind flitted from one scenario to the next of how Mason could use a child against her. She imagined threats to the baby’s wellbeing to keep her in line, or worse than just threatening. Mostly likely Mason would take the child under his wing, groom him to treat the world with the same cruelty and viciousness that he did, and raise him to hate her with his same twisted passion. That was Mason’s idea of what family was and it was her nightmare.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea Mason.” Margot said slowly.

Her brother stared hard at her for a moment then licked the tattered scars that served as his lips and said resignedly, “Ah, you’re probably right Margot. You’d make a shit mother.”

She grit her teeth and sat perfectly still, letting the anger soak into her.

“I’ve got to make a few more calls. I’ll leave you to-“ She sniffed indifferently. “Well, just sitting here.”

Margot stood and sauntered out of his bedroom with practiced calmness. She walked down the hall and then down another, then another, before slipping into a room. A vase sat on a pedestal right at the entrance and she shoved it over so it shattered satisfyingly to the ground. Her fists pounded back onto the door that had shut behind her as her hate for Mason boiled over. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep her rage contained. But she inhaled and exhaled slowly thinking of Alana and what needed to be done.

She did have more calls to make. Margot busied herself with calling a contact at Interpol that Alana had suggested she get in touch with. After Hannibal was caught they would need a way to get him out of Italy and back into the country so they would need someone in their pocket to turn a blind eye to human trafficking. She had veiled conversations with the officer over the phone but her thoughts were never far from Alana. She needed to speak with the doctor and Margot had fully intended to do so when Alana arrived back at the mansion. But when the heiress found Alana in a corridor making her way to the guest room, her intentions dissipated in an instant as she practically dragged Alana into the first spare room available and kissed her with a searing intensity. The brunette easily reciprocated, holding onto her tightly when Margot crowded her against the door. For a moment their hands clawed at each other’s clothing, lips and teeth gnashed together with vehemence but slowly Margot steady them.

She pulled back enough to look into Alana’s eyes, seeing the desire and a little confusion at her stopping. She looked at the tumultuous blue and felt herself fall in deeper to Alana then kissed her unhurriedly. The two women methodically removed their clothes, their hands inching along the newly exposed skin. Margot kissed in all the places she knew made Alana moan and kissed all the places she hadn’t before. Their lovemaking swung slowly like a heavy pendulum swaying back and forth. Until Alana nearly whimpered with need and Margot couldn’t resist the pleasure any longer. She pressed her thigh between Alana’s legs and the other woman immediately ground herself down onto it while Margot straddled Alana’s thigh, thrusting her hips onto the woman beneath her. Their bodies undulating together to the point of release, their heads tossed in euphoric satisfaction.

Margot kissed Alana’s temple before sliding down to rest her head on Alana’s chest as they both regained their breath. Alana tenderly stroked Margot’s back and pressed her nose into her curls. They lay in the rumpled sheets as if they were suspended in time keeping the reality at bay for too few precious moments.

The two women could not ignore the impending tide forever, eventually extracting themselves from one another and regrettably redressing bit by bit. Alana was sat on the edge of the putting on her gray blazer, the last of her misplaced garments, when spoke on the subject they’d been avoiding. “I reached out to my contact with the FBI. Mason is ahead of them in the pursuit of Hannibal Lecter.”

Margot stood in her black lingerie and found her dress tossed over the back of a chair. “Mason has no intention of ever sharing his lead with the FBI.”

“I do…” Alana rose up to join her, taking the sash to her dress that Margot had been fumbling with and walked around her, pulling the sash into place and tying it around her waist. “Once he has Hannibal of course. When Hannibal is dead, I’ll report that I have a highly disturbed patient and I’m afraid he is planning on hurting someone.”

“By then it will be too late and we’ll be rid of the both of them.” Margot nodded, they had discussed this before but it always seemed to bear repeating. She added, “There is something I need from Mason before he goes to prison.”

Alana tilted her head expectantly and Margot asked. “Any experience harvesting sperm?”

“Can’t say that I have.” Alana looked slightly offended. “Why?”

“To fully secure the Verger fortune there needs to be an heir. Who knows how long Mason will last in prison. There has to be a child. Mason’s child.”

“Mason is constantly surrounded by bodyguards and we don’t know your brother’s physical capability. It could be a near impossibility.” Alana said but Margot could see the wheels spinning in her head. The Verger took her hand drawing her gaze to Margot.

She sighed before she began to speak, “If you don’t want to raise a baby after all of this I understand. And it may sound crazy but this is what I want. I want a baby.”

Alana cupped her cheek with her other hand, “I need some time to process it… but if this is something you want I’ll do whatever I can to help you have a baby.”

“Thank you.” Margot whispered, feeling the relief of having not lost Alana at least for a while longer.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14:  _You're my victory._

 

Alana could not move. She recognized that she was naked and lying on her side on a hard floor, only able to see the wooden slates for a few feet in front of her and then there was nothing but inky darkness that she stared into with unblinking eyes. The darkness surrounding her seemed to swarm and loom around her, waiting for a chance to come into her. Panic constricted her muscles as her mind tried desperately to will herself to get up but she remained frozen in place. Then a plodding, menacing clicking sound echoed from the blackness, drawing nearer and nearer until Alana could see a figure emerging from it.

At first it appeared to be a woman floating towards her until she realize the woman was actually impaled on the antlers of a great, black stag, its head lowered with the weight of his victim as it moved toward her. The clacking of his hooves finally stopped as he stood before her presenting her with death and she could see that the body speared on his horns was Margot, her eyes clouded over and unseeing. She felt the horror and despair; she wanted to scream but could do nothing but lie there frightened and devastated. Then it looked as though a red curtain dropped behind the stag, but it was not made of cloth. A waterfall of blood cascaded down, filling the room with a dull roar. It crashed around the stag and Margot and began pooling around Alana’s prone form. The viscous red liquid rising and rising around her until in seeped up her nose and into her ears. She couldn’t breath or perhaps had not been breathing the whole time. The crimson tide swam into her vision until finally she was completely swallowed by it.

-

Alana jolted awake, gasping for air like she hadn’t been breathing in her sleep. On the ceiling above her, shadows of tree branches and the scant few leaves that clung to the limbs rattled in the breeze; the pattern rippling to appear as if Hannibal Lecter’s face hovered over her, finding a way to menace her even when he was half way across the globe. She sat up in bed and raked her fingers through her hair, trying to regain control of her thoughts as her nightmare lingered around her. Looking frantically around the darkened room Alana found that she was alone; her adrenaline spiked more. She was about to call out for Margot when she noticed soft, orange light to her right. There was a study connected to this bedroom by a sliding door, which was cracked open revealing the glow from the other side. The doctor gingerly swung her legs out of the bed, wincing in pain as her body remembered its injuries. She had to shuffle awkwardly to retrieve her cane that rested against the end of the bed. Her body moved frustratingly slow as she walked to the closet and wrapped a robe over her black negligee before making her way to the sliver of reassuring light.

She slid the door open a little more to reveal Margot sitting in a velvet green armchair in her striped navy pajamas, illuminate only by a delicate stained-glass lamp on the end table beside her. She looked pensive as she gazed off into the distance, running her middle finger repeated over her bottom lip. The heiress startled when Alana interrupted her solitude. She began to explain; “I got a call from Interpol about ‘transporting the cargo’. I think its all settled now. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t...” Alana said leaning against the doorframe. After a beat she spontaneous said, “Let’s get out of here.”

“What do you mean?” Margot asked taken aback. She took a few rough steps further into the room and tried to ignore how shaken she felt.

“I have a decent amount of money saved up, from before and then I have what your brother has paid me. I’d imagine you have some stashed away. We wouldn’t be destitute.” Alana began to ramble, her words picking up steam. “We can take whatever we can grab and just leave, find a corner of the world to hide in. Let the monsters destroy each other and we can be gone, away from all this chaos. We don’t have to do this.”

“You don’t think Mason will be able to kill Hannibal?” Margot asked with slow understanding.

“I think that Hannibal is a predator. We think were goading him into a trap but what if he is the one goading us?” Alana squeezed her cane tighter and remembered the feeling of entering Hannibal’s home with the handgun in her grip. She’d felt in control speaking with Hannibal until she pulled the trigger and there was only a hollow clicking sound. He had removed the bullets from her gun long before she even realized that she would be using it on him, he'd removed her security.

Margot studied her and Alana waited for her response. She felt strangely fortified under the Verger’s gaze as if it were holding her up. Now that her unbidden thoughts were out between them they felt foolish. To ask for Margot to abandon everything was too big of a thing to ask now; especially after the equally improbable conversation they’d had that afternoon. She wanted a baby and Alana had inexplicably promised to help her get one, though what that plan looked like was a gaping unknown. Margot wanted to up the ante while Alana wanted to cut their losses and run. They both wanted too much, security, money, revenge, power, and now each other. Their desires and needs were overlapping and sometimes verging on contradictory of each other. And then a baby, Alana thought; what a bizarre notion. Though the concept was becoming less strange even now as she considered how they would achieve this feat. If they were able to get Mason’s sperm, would they use a surrogate? That could lead to further complications. It would make the most sense if Alana could carry the child. Her heart palpitated and her head swam heavily with the sudden knowledge that it was something that she would willingly do for Margot.

The heiress held her hand out to Alana beckoning her, “Come here.”

The brunette went to her with a flooding sense of relief, the buzzing of thoughts and fears in her mind hushed as she drew nearer to Margot. Her arms wrapped around Alana’s waist and pulled her down to sit across her lap. She sank into the warmth of the other woman’s embrace, gently pressing her forehead against Margot’s and focusing on the feeling of her fingers rubbing her thigh. They were quiet for a long stretch until the auburn-haired woman inquired, “Where is this coming from? It's not like you to run.”

Alana left another pause before trying to explain, “I dreamt you were dead. You were mounted on stag’s antlers like- like he did. And I think I was dead. Then there was all this blood filling the room and I was consumed by all the vicious redness.”

“Hmm, sounds prophetic.” She replies simply.

Alana glares at her blasé tone, affronted by her reaction to her being frightened. She starts to push herself off of Margot but the other woman held tight to stop her from getting up and asking. “You know about dream analysis?”

The question seemed irrelevant but she answered dubiously. “There is very little scientific evidence to support systems of dream interpretation. There is too much variance and any attempted at creating a catalog of meanings is just the creator’s own idiosyncratic interpretation of dream images, which reveals more about the interpreter than the dreamer.”

“You’re cross when you don’t get enough sleep.” Margot said glibly.

“Margot…” Her anger rose and she tried to push away again but the arms around her waist remained firmly in place.

She finally got onto her point, “One of the more common beliefs in analyzing dreams is that to experience your own death usually means that significant changes are ahead. You’re moving on to new beginnings and leaving the past behind.”

Margot ran her fingers over her brow, smoothing away the tension. “And if you don’t believe that then it’s just a meaningless bad dream.”

“Yes,” Alana sighed. “But I had these dreams of black nothingness, before when Will was zeroing in on Hannibal and his illusion was fracturing. They felt like this, like darkness was coming into me, poisoning me. It does feel like a bad omen.”

Margot’s hand slid to cup her neck comfortingly, her thumb brushing along her jaw line. Alana grabbed her wrist, asserting with some desperation to try and make Margot understand, “I didn’t have anything to lose before. And now I have you.”

“It’s true; now we have each other. Every time I’ve come up against my brother I’ve lost but this time is different, I’m not alone. You’re not alone. We are in this together.”

Margot’s words filled Alana, replacing the insidious nightmares and swelling fear with something softer and lighter but still grounding like her veins were overflowing with molten gold. A smile ghost over her lips and Margot’s lips twitch upward as they soaked in each other’s presence. Nothing was all right and yet it was as Margot spoke, “I don’t dream much. But I was having one before I woke up. Do you want to know what I was dreaming?”

Alana nodded.

“I dreamt I was walking through the statue garden of the Louvre. I wanted to see the headless Nike, the one you looked at over and over again when you were in Paris. But when I finally stood before for her I found her whole and her face looked exactly like yours. The stone morphed into flesh and it was you floating toward me with brilliant golden wings. You came right into my arms…” Margot relayed to her in a marveled tone. “No matter how this all plays out, you’re my victory.”

“And you’re mine.” Alana echoed, sealing the sentiment with a lingering kiss.

When they reluctantly broke off the kiss, Margot shifted under her, “Let’s go back to bed.”

Alana struggled a little to her feet and with Margot’s assistance they wandered back into the bedroom. Margot excused herself for a moment while Alana settled underneath the covers though sitting up. The other woman returned with a glass of water and a small cedar chest. She sat on the edge of the bed, presenting Alana with two pills that looked to be Percocet, “Here. For the pain.”

Alana downed them gratefully as Margot opened the box she had set on her lap, the contents clinking together as she rummaged around in it, “And this is for the bad dreams.”

She held up a vial with dried-out green buds. Alana scoffed, “Pot? Are we 16?”

“Trust me. You won’t have any trouble sleeping with this. It’s a specialized strain.”

“Have anything in there that will make me see pink elephants?”

“Maybe.” Margot smirked, ignoring her skepticism. “But that’s for a different time.”

Alana smiled a little and didn’t say anymore as she relaxed back to watch Margot roll a joint. Using the box as a make shift table, she laid out a cigarette paper, crumbled the bud into a healthy line, and rolled it all together with nimble fingers. Her green eyes gazed adoringly in Alana’s as she ran her tongue along the edge of the paper sealing it. Placing the joint between her lips Margot pulled a sliver lighter from the breast pocket of her pajamas. The flame snapped on, burning orange in the blue dark of the room, and the Verger took a long hit. The smell of the unique smoke immediately pervaded the air, skunked and herbal and a little sweet.

Pale blue smoke clouded from Margot’s mouth as she passed the joint to Alana. She held it between her thumb and index finger, drawing the smoke into her mouth then letting it curl out to inhale it through her nose. She held the heavy smoke in her lungs, letting it soak into her system. Margot looked surprise but amused; she asked in a faux scandalized tone, “Why Dr. Bloom were did you learn such a trick?”

“Harvard Poetry Club, sophomore year.” Alana coughed a couple times as she released her breath.

Margot took the joint back this time inhaling then pushing out smoke rings. Alana lifted a brow, “And where did you learn that trick?”

“Phillips Exeter Academy, junior year, girl’s lacrosse team.”

They passed the joint back and forth trading stories about their first experiences getting high. Then Alana insisted that Margot tell her about her days in lacrosse, amusedly imagining a younger Margot who was lanky limbs and bruised knees with wild curls charging down a pitch. As they talked, the drugs steadily built up in her system, like a fog rolling in, leaving Alana feeling loose and full of space. All traces of pain and fear were a distant, indistinct memory. Finally they lay back down in the sheets, her blood sung through her veins making it feel as if she were contentedly floating down. When Alana looked up now, the shadows of the branches that rustled above her were merely the random shapes of nature, Hannibal’s ominous mirage no longer there to watch over her. Alana turned on her side to rest her head against Margot’s shoulder, shut her eyes, and slipped off into a blissful nothingness.


End file.
